Eyas
by Shmeeko
Summary: Before Champions and Warriors, they were but children - children with lessons to learn and mistakes to make. But no matter the challenge, no matter the danger, their most pivotal moments were faced as family - as siblings who grew up fighting side by side. The eldest, a jester. The youngest, an underdog. And in the middle of it all is the child who only wants peace. /MageGarrett
1. Adventure

"C'mon Brother, it's only a little water!"

Carver looked up, wide blue eyes meeting the expectant stare of his twin, who held out her hand to him in support. He made a face and shuffled back from the river.

"This is stupid," he protested, insulting the activity to bury his fear. "There's nothing on the other side of that river but more trees and bushes. Let's go somewhere else."

Bethany sighed, standing amidst the river on a flat-faced stone that protruded from the swift-moving water. Their elder brother hopped from stone to stone ahead of her, almost to the other side. The eldest Hawke paused on one of the few remaining stones on his path to the shoreline, casting a look over his shoulder at the twins who still hesitated by the opposite bank. Seeing his little brother hesitating on solid ground, Garrett turned.

"If you wanna go back, Carver, then go! Beth and I will go explore the other side together!"

Carver bristled, even more so as his sister turned away from him and began stepping carefully from stone to stone across the river, her pigtails bobbing with every step. He _refused_ to be left behind, but...

His blue eyes found the water below, unable to explain why it made him so uneasy. Bethany and Garrett didn't seem to have a problem with it, and they all knew it wasn't too deep at this part – Garrett had already tested the depth with a stick. But the thought of crossing it on those stones, no matter the fact that the other Hawke siblings had proven their ability to do so, made him queasy.

The youngest Hawke took another step back, shaking his head, lifting it to shout more complaints about their passtime, surprised to find his brother perched on the closest rock to _his_ side of the river, giving him a lopsided, goofy grin. Bethany was already on the other side.

"Come on, little brother," Garrett insisted, stepping back onto the shore and approaching his hesitant sibling. He clapped an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, "I'll be right behind you every step of the way, promise."

"I don't need you to baby me! I'm not a kid anymore!"

Those words, coming from a stubborn, seven-year-old boy, would've been laughable. But as frequently as the eldest sibling took pleasure in laughter and jokes, he knew now was not the time. Three years seniority didn't put him very far ahead of his twin siblings in the ways of worldly wisdom, but he _did_ know how to handle his brother – laughing at him would sending him marching back home to tell father what they were up to.

"Okay, okay." Garrett released his brother and held up his hands in surrender. "I get it. Do it yourself, then."

"I will!"

Carver ploughed forward with new found determination, taking the steps as surely and as bravely as his sister did before him. He was aware that his brother was one or two stones behind him, but made no comment, focusing instead on keeping his balance as he hopped from stone to stone.

"There," he said upon reaching the other shore, landing on both feet with finality. "I told you I could do it myself."

Bethany giggled, understanding what her twin did not. Garrett shrugged, picked up the stick he'd been carrying with him since the trio had started this little adventure and lead the way into the thicket. The younger twins followed, aware that Carver had been right – they wouldn't find anything more than trees and bushes – but it was the thrill of going somewhere they had not yet explored which enticed them forward.

The Hawke siblings advanced deeper into this undiscovered terrain, walking closer together as they noticed their surroundings beginning to darken. The sun still hung high in the sky, but here the trees grew nearer to one another, their branches beginning to form a thick canopy of leaves that let less and less light through to the forest floor.

"Maybe we should turn back?" suggested Bethany, her soft-spoken words cutting into the thick silence of the forest with surprising volume.

Garrett looked over his shoulder to the twins, the younger of which was scrunching his nose up in distaste.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Beth," Carver said flatly, all fears now absent – he'd overcome his most recent tribulations all by himself, nothing was scary any more. But Bethany was not as self-assured as her brother was, or perhaps her abilities just gave her more insight into the _true_ dangers of the darkness. Whatever the reason, she linked arms with her brother, laced their fingers and clung tightly.

Carver puffed out his chest, ready and eager to be brave for the both of them.

"If you really want to turn back -" Garret began, only to have his suggestion stopped as the youngest Hawke marched right by him with their sister in tow.

"If _you_ wanna go back, brother, then go," he said in a mockery of what he'd been told only a short while ago. "Beth and I will explore this side together."

Garrett grinned and chuckled, admitting inwardly that he probably deserved that, then went to follow the twins as they advanced.

But even little Carver's bravado had its limits. A few more minutes walking straight into the dark and he was behind his brother again, on his heels and close enough to draw comfort from the eldest Hawke's presence, but not so close that it was obvious he was doing so. The forest was now not only dark, but silent. No birds chirped below the tree tops, no insects hummed loudly into the shade, no little creatures scurried about the forest floor. There was only a deafening silence.

Suddenly, Bethany planted her heels into the mulch of leaves on the ground and forced her twin to stop. Garrett took only a few steps further before realizing he was no longer behind followed. The Hawke boys looked to their sister with matching expressions of concern.

"I-I...something feels wrong in here." Bethany pressed her forehead to her brother's shoulder and shut her eyes. Carver felt nothing but a little creeped out, so he was a little surprised when the normally cheery-eyed Garrett approached looking grave and nervous.

"We'll turn back now," he said quietly, leaving no room for arguement. Under any other circumstance, Carver would've protested to being told what to do, but now he only pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. Bethany getting scared was one thing, but the expression of unease on his carefree brother's face meant that something probably _was_ wrong here.

The siblings turned around to retrace their steps and go back the way they came, only to find that the darkness had thickened in their wake – like a heavy fog – and shrouded their exit. Before the trio could react, the darkness shifted and hissed as if _alive._

Bethany screamed, her cry swallowed by the darkness and plunging them back into silence.

"_Children,_" hissed a voice that spilled forth from the shadows. There was something _moving_ in the dark. _"There is no need to be afraid, I mean you no harm. I only wish to talk to such...talented...youngsters."_ Garrett, automatically assuming the elder-brother role, pulled his siblings back to stand behind him, now holding that stick in both hands like a staff.

Like a liquid, a dark shape melted out of the shadows, looking like the Shades of scary stories, but moving much slower than the creatures of those tales. It moved like molasses, slow and gradual. Dark, translucent cloth wrapped its form and gave it an organic shape, one that made it all the more untrustworthy to the Hawke trio, who stood frozen in place.

"_You...the both of you...such hidden wonders within you...tell me, children, do you know of the powers you wield?"_

The thing wove through the air, circling Garrett, who stood his ground, whipping his head 'round to follow the creature's movements. It then shifted its focus to Bethany, who whined and clung tighter to her twin, who wrapped her in a hug and shut his own eyes tightly. It wove back to hover just before the Hawkes.

"_You have nothing to fear from me, I am but a visitor, drawn here by such wondrous, untapped talents."_ Its voice was smooth, like to the feel of velvet around them, but it was cold and sinister and while Carver could not feel it, exhumed a constant, tantalizing pressure on the minds of the elder two children. _"How would you like to better understand the gifts you possess? I can offer you...an alliance...of sorts...that will put to rest your concerns and insecurities about your...abilities...All I ask is-"_

Garret cracked his stick against the ground, his opposite hand bursting into flame. Carver knew it to be nothing more than a display of skill. The eldest Hawke had yet to do much more with his magic than look flashy. Whether that fire would burn very hot or for very long was unlikely.

"Enough," he commanded with an authority that was very unlike the aloof eldest. "We know what you are. We'll have no dealings with a _demon_."

This thing was a demon? Carver shivered, he had thought demons could only appear to mages – and only in that place their father called the Fade. What was one doing here? How was it here?

"_I can sense...your confusion, children...I am...as I said, a visitor...I cannot hold my shape here long in __this...unholy place where the boundaries between our worlds is so...insubstantial...It is rare...but not impossible."_

The demon suddenly dipped forward, coming to a halt directly in front of Garrett and kicking up a breeze that put out the flame the boy had summoned. Bethany whimpered, clinging tighter to her twin. She'd picked the wrong time to peek.

Garrett held his ground, despite the way his muscles quivered with fear. The faceless thing simply hovered in front of the child for a time, and Carver had a feeling something else was happening that he could not understand, for without warning his eldest brother crumpled to the ground, his head in his hands. Carver flinched, backing away as the demon turned its attention to the twins.

"_Ah...but what of this one? ...This one...that hides in the arms of the weaker..."_

The boy's fear was almost shoved aside by the indignity that remark dug up. Almost.

"_What say you...child? I can sense...sense your feelings...towards your brother's progress...do you wish to catch up to your elder...to surpass him?"_

From somewhere within, Carver felt a surge of protectiveness and with this emotion came an untapped reserve of bravery. He shoved his sister behind him and stood in the demon's path.

"You leave my family alone!" he demanded, stooping down to pick up the stick Garrett had abandoned and holding it at the base like a sword. The demon floating in front of him did so in silence, as if thinking. Carver waved the stick in what the child hoped to be a threatening manner. Behind him, Bethany began to cry out, as if in pain. Her hands flew to her head, to press her palms into her ears. She too slumped to the ground, but where Garrett had hit his knees, Bethany had toppled over and curled up in the dirt.

"Bethany!" Carver resisted the urge to abandon his post in front of the demon and drop to his sister's side. He instead charged forward, slashing the stick down like a blade and cleaved the demon in twain.

The creature's shape fizzled into nothing, but the darkness remained, creeping towards them ominously. Carver stood nervously over his twin, unsure where to turn, where to aim his next attack. Nearby, Garrett was pushing himself slowly back to his feet.

"Brother!" Carver called, grabbing his senior's arm and pulling him close. "What's going on? What's wrong with you and Bethany?"

Garrett took some time to muster up a response, his palm pressing hard into his temple as if he were plagued by a headache.

"The demon...it's speaking to us...telling us..." The eldest Hawke stilled his tongue, pulling his hand from his temple and shaking his head to clear it. He turned to Bethany, who whimpered sadly against the ground. Garrett lifted his sister off the forest floor, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding her to his front, his arms folded underneath her rear to keep her from slipping. "We need to leave...now."

Carver could only nod to his brother, who looked about ready to topple over himself. Understanding that Garrett was perhaps not in the best shape to lead and Carver still held the stick, the youngest Hawke stepped forward to take point, cleaving his way through the darkness with his makeshift weapon, his elder brother falling in step behind him.

The fog-like shadows hissed around them, whispering things that Carver could not understand but made Garrett flinch and intake sharp breaths between his teeth. Concerned, the little warrior paused.

"Don't stop!" Garrett gave him a shove with his shoulder. "Keep going. We can't...can't afford to stop."

Carver didn't ask why, he simply pressed forward, slashing through where he believed the fog was beginning to thicken and trying to pick up the pace, concerned for his siblings and the speed at which Garrett could carry them. Much sooner than the youngest Hawke was expecting, he could see the river and the stepping-stones they'd used to cross.

"It's just ahead, brother, don't give up yet!"

He could hear Garrett's breathing behind him, heavy and gasping from exhaustion. He stumbled towards the riverbank, the sight of the water giving him the same hope it had his little brother. He shifted his grip on Bethany to better see around her and made a hop for the first stone. Carver skidded to a halt at the banks, turned and held his sword out, standing his ground to protect the path while his sibling crossed. The darkness that seemed to snake after them through the woods hesitated away from the riverbank. Taking that as a good sign, Caver backed onto the first stone, aware that Garrett was almost to the other side.

The darkness was definitely not crossing the river, encouraging the boy to retreat to the next stone. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Garrett landing on the opposite bank. Carver backed up onto another stone, never taking his eyes off the shadows for long, relieved that they seemed to be receding back into the darkness of the forest.

With his next step, his footing slipped. The stone was wet and impossible to get a purchase on, forcing the youngest Hawke to tumble into the water where the current began to drag him, sputtering and kicking, downstream. He called out, though he was unsure to whom. His head went under and muffled his cries, his boots scraping against the riverbed but being pushed too forcefully by the current to get a foothold.

As he began to consider the fact that this was his last great adventure, he felt a warm hand grip his wrist and pull him against the current, to a warm, familiar body. He clung to his elder, taller brother who dragged them both to the bank. They stumbled out of the river together, collapsing in the wet dirt at the shores. Garrett rolled onto his back and laughed at the sky, while Carver coughed and sputtered indignantly.

"W-what's so funny?" Carver demanded before coughing further, tears springing to his eyes at the irritation in his throat. Garrett's chest heaved as he gulped down all the air he could between chuckles.

"I don't even know, little brother. Out of the frying pan and into the fire with the three of us, I guess. We escape a demon only to have you take a tumble into the river. If it's not one, it's the other, eh?" Garret chuckled again.

"I don't see how that's funny," wheezed Carver, before his scornful expression jumped to one of concern. "Where's Bethany?"

Garrett tilted his head back and gestured upstream. Bethany was lying in the dirt but a few paces away, appearing unconscious, but otherwise okay.

"I have a _brilliant _idea, little brother," huffed Garrett, giving the canopy of trees a cheeky grin. "Why don't the three of us chalk this up to a bad dream and not tell father? He'll have kittens if we tell him this."

Carver's jaw clenched and his mouth set into a hard line.

"I know a friend who positively_ loves _cats."

Garrett laughed at the return of his joke, only to have his laughter die down when he realized the littlest Hawke was not laughing with him. Defeated, the eldest let out a long sigh.

"Oh. Balls."

* * *

"_I am so unbelievably cross with you, Garrett Hawke! How could you endanger the twins like that! You're supposed to be looking out for them! You should count yourself lucky I don't summon that demon back here to finish his work with you! Why I never-"_

Carver narrowed his eyes and let himself out the back door, no longer so eager to hear Malcolm tear his eldest son a new one. So he settled instead for heading out to the scarecrow, who would be the target of Carver's practice swings with his little wooden sword until Malcolm came out to find him and express his disappointment in the twins' decision to follow their elder sibling into danger. But of course, Garrett was taking the blame, so he wouldn't be spoken to nearly as...loudly.

The boy flew at the dummy as soon as he was close enough, hitting it angrily a few times and giving his very best frustrated war cry. So wrapped up in his anger and guilt was he that he did not hear his twin approaching until she spoke. He nearly flew out of his skin, momentarily suspecting his father was finished with Garrett so soon.

"Carver...we should be the ones in there...not him," she said, staring at her feet as she spoke guiltily to the dirt. The boy gave the scarecrow another solid whack for good measure, not quite ready to admit his guilt as his sister was.

"Why? Father's right, we were _his_ responsibility."

Bethany frowned at her brother, unhappy with how readily he used Garrett as a scapegoat, but knowing the bitterness in his tone meant he wasn't any happier about the reflex.

"Crossing the river was my idea, Carver. Going deeper into the forest was yours."

"He didn't have to agree! We didn't know what would happen! He should've said no...he should've turned around!" Carver whacked the scarecrow so hard that it spun on its pole. Bethany didn't flinch at her brother's contained violence, and only kept frowning sadly.

"Would you have listened?"

Carver stopped, letting the thing keep spinning until it came to a gradual stop.

"When that...that _thing_ was talking to you...it talked about how you wanted to catch up to Garrett. To...surpass him..." Carver spoke slowly, one hand on the shoulder of the scarecrow as he caught his breath. "Why didn't you ever tell me you felt like that?"

"Well that's just it...I never did." Bethany looked puzzled. "Father tells me all the time how well I'm doing, that I'm already doing much better than Garrett was when he was my age...that comment from the demon didn't make any sense to me, because I'm really happy with what I can do...but it was the only one of the sort it said."

Carver tightened his grip on his training sword and gave the scarecrow another good whack, confirming what he'd been worried about. The demon hadn't been reading Bethany's wishes, but his own.

"What did it say to you?" Carver asked, moving the subject along so he wouldn't have to give the issue of his jealousy any more thought. Bethany blushed and shook her head, her gaze back to her shoes.

"I don't...I can't say. I'm just glad it's gone."

The boy sliced at the scarecrow and said nothing further on the matter, both of them quite uneasy with the subject.

"D'you think Garrett's gonna tell father that it was our idea to go that far?" Carver asked as he jabbed at the spot where the dummy's ribs would be. Bethany settled onto the ground, picking at a piece of hay.

"He never has before," she mumbled.

Carver whacked the straw man hard and it wobbled on its mount. He uttered a curse and hit it again, and again and again and again, each strike backed by anger and guilt equally until his sword snapped. Taking no more than a second to realize what he'd done, the boy threw the broken thing aside and stomped back towards the house.

He told himself he was going to tell father the truth. It was _his_ idea to go as far as they did, that it was _his_ fault and _he_ should take responsibility for his own actions.

He was only through the door for a few moments before his courage left him and he was chased back outside by the shouts of his father, shouts that weren't even directed at him.

* * *

Carver awoke with a start to darkness, panting and drenched in a cold sweat. He wiped the tears from his eyes with urgency, as if afraid of being seen. But in the dark and quiet of night, he knew there was little chance of that.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Carver gripped at the blanket pooled in his lap, studying the walls of his room, the familiar shape of his furniture, the silhouette of his twin sister across the room, sleeping soundly.

He'd dreamed, for the fifth night in a row, of that demon, of the darkness of the river, and each time his siblings weren't there, but their voices chided him in his head, scorning him for not taking the blame for his actions. He always woke up just before he drowned, just before the demon took him within his cold, sharp claws, but each dream lasted longer.

Each dream hurt more.

Carver covered his face with his hands and let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes to the memory of rushing water and bittersweet promises. He hissed, throwing his covers off and storming out of the room, managing to keep quiet despite his exasperation.

He marched down the hall and stopped at the door to the neighbouring room, took a moment to steel his nerves and let himself in. His brother was asleep in his bed just under the window, and for a moment, Carver wondered what he was doing there. What was he going to say? Why was he here? Would Garrett even take him seriously? Maker knows the eldest Hawke had the attention span of a banana and found amusement in the smallest of things.

But before he could convince himself to leave, Carver found himself at his brother's side, nudging the elder boy's shoulder and calling his name into the dark.

"Garrett. Garrett, wake up."

Slowly, the eldest raven-haired child woke, mumbling things under his breath and lifting his head, groggy with sleep. He blinked a few times at his little brother, trying to bring his vision into focus.

"Carver? What're you doing up? Is the house on fire? Is Bethany having a girly moment? Sheila have her pups yet?" he paused to gasp, "did father actually have kittens?"

"No, stupid." Carver gave his brother a shove, who didn't fight it at all and sprawled back on his bed with a content sigh.

"Right, well if all is hunky-dory with the world, I'm gonna resume sleeping, okay?"

"No! No, stay awake. I..." Carver hesitated, finding these words difficult. "I want to talk with you."

Garrett lay still for a moment before pushing himself upright.

"Are _you _having a girly moment?"

"Garrett."

"Right." The elder Hawke shuffled over, crossed his legs and rapidly patted the empty space beside him. "Come cuddle, then."

Carver threw up his hands and made an exasperated noise.

"Please, could you take me seriously for once in your life?"

Garrett patted the space beside him again and smiled sweetly. Admitting defeat, Carver crawled onto the bed, but sat at the foot of it, facing his elder brother who was giving him that lopsided smile.

"I...I'm sorry about...what I did."

"Hmm? Are we talking about the time you used my staff to pole vault the neighbours fence and snapped it? Or the time you 'accidentally' locked me in the cellar after getting me to check it for giant spiders? Or wait, is this about that time we were at the Woodrich's lawn party and you told Arianna Woodrich I made a hobby of snogging the toads I collected from the marsh?"

"No, No Garrett – Maker, would you just listen!"

"She still kissed me, you know. Funny girl. Must've had a fetish for toads, too. I'm sure she was positively heartbroken when I told her you were lying through your arse."

"Fine. Coming here was a waste of time, you obviously don't want to listen to me."

Just as Carver went to shuffle off the bed, Garrett chuckled softly, a different sound to his usual laughter. This one was quiet, humbled.

"I know why you're here, Carver. You feel bad about what happened that day we crossed the river."

The younger boy hesitated, his legs dangling over the side of his brother's bed.

"If you're feeling guilty, don't. I should've turned us around, I'm just as much at fault, if not more so. After all, I am the eldest." With those words, Carver rounded on his brother, snapping his head around so quickly and narrowing his eyes in such a way that Garrett actually leaned back a little.

"No! Stop saying that! Just because you're the oldest doesn't mean you have to take responsibility for us...doesn't mean you're the _leader_."

"No, no, I'm pretty sure father has the 'man of the house' thing all locked up."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Carver grabbed fistfuls of the covers beneath him, gritting his teeth. "I don't want to grow up being stuck behind you. Whenever we all do something, it's 'Garrett took the twins and did this' or, 'the twins followed Garrett to this place' and 'Oh, Garrett, when are you going to start setting a better example for the twins?' It's not fair. I'm more than just part of 'the twins'. I am capable of doing things _without_ you around."

Garrett stared, his expression level for the first time that night.

"So why don't you?" he asked. "Nothing was stopping you from walking up to father and telling him it was your idea to go for a pleasurable romp into the darkness. Nor did you rush in to stop him from blaming me for _every little thing_ that could have gone wrong and did."

"Why didn't you?"

Garrett shrugged.

"It would sound to him like I was just making excuses. Plus, explaining things to him takes so much effort. I find it's easier to just let him talk until he's blue in the face and then apologize. "I'm sorry" is much easier to say than, 'It was all Carver's fault the little prig made me do it.'"

Carver gave his brother a bitter look, feeling as if he should be insulted but unable to drum up the anger it would take to be offended.

"I'm not stopping you from stepping out and shouldering some responsibility, Carver, and I don't know what you'd have me do otherwise. I can't just stop existing any more than I can miraculously make you older than me."

The younger Hawke sighed, stuck without a way to argue with his brother on this and unsure how he'd even go about trying.

"What would you do?" he asked instead, looking for guidance from the person he'd just finished complaining about. "If you were in my place. If you were the twin, the youngest, what would you do?"

"Me? I would put my feet up. Read a book, have some tea and biscuits. Ransack some houses under the guise of some ne'er do well thief who leaves twenty-seven cats behind as a calling card. I could get up to a lot of dastardly deeds if everyone was looking at someone else to blame."

"Garrett, I mean it."

"And I'm not kidding. Not even a little. Twenty-seven cats exactly."

Carver buried his face in his hands.

"Really, Carver, I'm not. I would enjoy it while you can. Eventually, people are going to start looking to you, and how you handle yourself in situations like these is going to affect those around you. You might want to enjoy the time you have as a kid to do kid-like things. Go play in the mud, catch some bugs, roll down some hills with a smattering of puppies. I don't know why you're in such a hurry to take the blame, trust me when I say it's not exactly the most enjoyable spot in the world."

The younger boy sighed and nodded dejectedly, unable to argue but not exactly feeling that much better about the whole thing. Garrett reached forward to put a hand on his brother's shoulder, offering him a modest smile.

"Carver, whenever you're ready to step out, I'll be behind you one-hundred-and-fifty-three percent. Until then, taking the blame is what I'm good at. Don't beat yourself up about every little thing you get away with that I take the heat for. Let me do that for you instead!"

Using the grip he had on his brother's shoulder, Garrett shoved Carver out of bed, who landed ungracefully in a heap on the floor. He cursed, something that would've made mother shreik at the indignity, and picked himself up off the ground.

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"It's all Carver's fault, the little prig made me do it. Now away! I have some beauty sleep to catch up on."

With a huff, the youngest Hawke brushed himself off and made for the door, hesitating at the exit to look back to his brother, who was settling back into the covers with a content sigh.

"Garrett?"

"You're welcome."

Carver chuckled, shook his head, then shut the door behind him, returning to his own bed with a spring in his step.

* * *

**KAH-KAW**

**Hello, DAO/II community. Don't hate me for turning my childhood-butchering habits on this lovable trio. I promise I won't drag it on for too terribly long. This one will be shortish and sweetish. I live for the ish.**

**So yes, this is a prologue of sorts to a pre-Champion life. I apologize in advance if I offend anyone with my ideas, I assure you, that was only part of the desired effect. It starts here, and will end with the Deep Roads shinanegans. Which shinanegan, you might ask?**

**WE SHALL SEE.**

**I might do alternate endings for all three options. But that would require effort.**

**Anyways, please, don't hesitate to send a review my way. I read every one and am likely to respond as well, so if you have any questions, comments, expressions of your unadultered rage, throw them at me!**

**I can take it, I'm a big girl 8| -lower lip tremble-**

**Thanks so much for reading this far!**

**Toodles~**

**Shmee**


	2. Boys

Garrett was startled awake by a thump and a shriek, followed quickly by the rush of footsteps, looking up from his bed in time to see Carver go racing by his bedroom door. Bethany could still be heard shrieking in the twins' room, sputtering curses and hollering for mother.

The eldest Hawke rolled out of bed with little difficulty, drawn to see what little Beth was carrying on about this time.

The boy hesitated at the door to the twins' room, where an eight-year-old Bethany struggled awkwardly in her bed. She was unable to go far, or move much, for the braid of her short black hair had been nailed to her bedpost. She gripped tightly to her hair and pulled, making a pained face as both Hawkes could hear the hair tearing out of her head.

"That looks painful," observed Garrett, holding up admirably well under the glare of his little sister for at least a few seconds before his laughter got the better of him.

"It's not funny!"

"Looks pretty funny!"

Bethany groaned, the sound angry as she tried to pull her tangled braid from the bedpost. "Boys," she hissed, moving her small hands to the nail itself, trying to pull it from the wood. Tears gathered in her eyes from the frustration and the humiliation, encouraged by her elder brother's laughter. She bit her lip and refused to look at her sibling, holding in the urge to beg. She knew her brother, he would only find this funny for a few minutes. After that, she'd turn her big eyes on him and go straight for the heart with her whimpers.

Sure enough, Garrett's chuckles quietened into nothing, and in synchronization with this, Bethany looked to him helplessly, aware that she was still crying and taking advantage of that to look as pathetic as possible. As expected, her big brother caved and crossed the room to her bed.

"Why does he do this to me?" She whined, leaning her head into Garrett's arm as he turned his deft fingers to the nail.

"He's a little brother, it's his job," said Garrett simply, beginning to untangle the elder twin's hair. Carver must have tangled the braid before nailing it, or Bethany's struggles could have twisted her hair so tightly around the metal, but the knotted, pinned mess needed to be sorted through before Bathany was going anywhere.

"Yes, but he doesn't nail _you_ to the bedpost in the mornings," Bethany whined, "it's not fair."

Garrett laughed again, pulling a thick strand of hair free. Bethany twisted, trying to watch her brother's progress, but one of his hands pressed to the side of her face when she tried, stopping her from wiggling too much.

"You'll make it worse," he said, making sure she was still before returning to his work. "And no, he doesn't nail me to the bedpost." The boy paused to run a hand through his short hair, smiling deviously at his sister. "It'd be difficult for him. Not to mention I'd throttle him."

"Could you throttle him for me?"

"Maybe."

Another strand came loose, and normally Bethany would now be able to pull herself free. It would hurt, but at least she would no longer be fastened in place. However, she enjoyed talking with her brother and found the gentle tugs of his fingers on her scalp to be soothing. She held her tongue, kept still and let him work.

Garrett carried on. If he was aware his sister could have handled things herself from that point, he didn't show it.

"Besides, he may not nail me to the bedpost, but he finds other ways to keep me on my toes."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Stealing my staff, preparing elaborate pranks that trigger when I walk through the door, spontaneous 'ambushes' in the hallways." Bethany couldn't help a little giggle, and the sound made Garrett smile. "Being a brother means I'm eligible for more physical shenanigans. He can beat me up if he wants, I'm not as likely to run off and tell mum."

Garrett paused, reconsidering his words.

"Well, he can _try_."

"Are you calling me a snitch?" The last of Bethany's hair fell away from the post and she turned on her side, looking up to her brother with an expression of indignation.

"No, I'm just saying I'm more tolerant to play fighting. You get the relatively harmless pranks and I get the surprise attacks. If you ever want to trade, just let me know. I'm sure we can arrange something."

Bethany shook her head, pursed her lips and then sat up, running a hand through her hair tentatively, wincing when her fingers got caught in a knot. She would have to give her hair a good wash and comb through it before breakfast.

"Do you suppose Carver's gone off to prepare something for you, then?"

"If he's bored already, I'm sure. Who knows, it's still early." Garrett stood, arching his back and stretching, evoking a yawn as he did. "See you at breakfast, yeah?"

Bethany nodded, thanking her brother as he left the twins' room, pausing only to wave off her gratitude with a smile. The girl let out a long breath, pinching an obvious knot in her hair between thin fingers. She made a face, huffed, then rose, shuffling across the floor to find her slippers and comb. She reached her vanity, picked up the little brush and habitually went to pull on her slippers.

When she pulled on the right shoe, her toes squished against something cold and slimy. The thing jumped at the contact and _croaked_.

Bethany practically launched the shoe across the room with a shriek, her surprise switching to anger like lightning as she balled her hands into fists and screamed for mother at the top of her lungs.

* * *

It was a few days before Carver dare try anything on his siblings again – the scolding he'd received from mother had been enough to deter him for at least that long – and when he did, his elder brother was the target.

The youngster waited patiently for the eldest Hawke, perched on the low roof just above their back door. A bucket teetered precariously on the edge of the roof, kept from falling only by the boy's grip on the handle. When Garrett finally stepped outside, having been asked by his father to fetch Carver from the yard, he was surprised by a war-cry from above.

The bucket went first, mud and grass and water combined showering over the eldest Hawke and drowning out his sudden shout. Next, Carver leaped from the roof – really only a short distance up from the ground – and had time to take delight in his brother's expression of alarm right before he crashed into the elder boy. Carver's momentum flattened them both to the ground, Garrett's hands catching most of his attacker's weight before he'd toppled backwards.

The youngest Hawke recovered quickly, shoving his brother over onto his stomach and perching on the youth's back, wrenching his hands behind him and pressing them both tightly at the wrist into his back. Garrett sputtered, shaking off the daze as he lifted his head and spat out muddy water.

"You lose!" Carver declared, pushing harder down on his brother's wrists.

Garrett chuckled dryly into the dirt.

"That so?"

Carver felt his balance shifting as his brother began to roll, using his superior weight to force the younger boy off. As soon as Carver's grip loosed enough, Garrett tore his hands free and pounced on his little brother.

The two rolled in the damp dirt, Carver struggling quite genuinely for the upper hand while Garrett made an effort simply to not get stuck under the boy a second time. They writhed and wrestled, Garrett shoving the boy when he got too rough and Carver responding by getting rougher. His initial strike with the water seemed silly now, as Carver's clothes were damp from tussling with the soaking wet Hawke and they both were quite mucky from the ground.

Eventually, Garrett had one hand gripping the material of Carver's shirt as he pressed the younger boy into the earth. Carver struggled, trying to press his shoes against Garrett's chest to push him off, while the older Hawke used his spare hand to try and deter this retaliation. Carver growled and huffed with each failed attempt, occasionally bucking up to try and overthrow his brother.

It was a slow and difficult process, but eventually Garrett managed to use his superior size and weight to roll Carver over, pinning him face-down into the dirt. The boy felt his hands wrenched behind him in a manner similar to his own just a few minutes prior. Then he felt a terrific weight on his wrists and realized Garrett was _sitting_ on them.

"Ow, that hurts, you stupid oaf!"

"You started this, I just reacted," Garrett said, and Carver could _hear_ the smug smile in his brother''s voice. "It was very kind of you to volunteer yourself like this," he continued, "I was getting dreadfully tired of standing."

Carver wiggled, trying to squeeze out from under his brother, but found the pressing weight on his wrists made his shoulders ache with every move. He gave a loud, exasperated groan into the dirt.

"Fine, whatever, just get off."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite done my time out, yet." Garrett pressed his rear down harder into his brother's back, wiggling his hips with a chuckle.

"Ow! Stop moving your bony arse! You're hurting me!"

"And you hurt me, calling me bony. I think in my grief I've lost the ability to stand!"

"You're full of it! Get off!"

"You noticed it too? See, I _told_ Father I felt heavier than usual today, but he assumed I was just being self-conscious. Tell me brother, do I look fat from that angle?"

"You _feel_ fat from this angle," grumbled Carver, the ache from his struggles having stretched to his elbows. He pressed his forehead to the ground and let loose a frustrated sigh. Really, it was rare that he won these scraps with his brother, who too frequently used the advantage of size to get the upper-hand. But he still felt compelled to try whenever he'd the opportunity. Even the slightest chance that he might one day _beat_ his brother kept him coming back swinging.

Garrett probably would've seen fit to punish him this way for hours, were it not for his mother's startled voice at the back door.

"Garrett Hawke, get off your brother!"

The eldest child turned his head to his mother and put on his best innocent face, using a line that had so frequently passed from every Hawke child's lips.

"He started it!"

"I don't care!" said Leandra, approaching the pair of boys with a huff. "I swear, we can't leave the two of you alone with each other for a moment." Garrett was dragged to his feet by a harsh grip on his bicep, something Carver would've laughed at, were it not that Leandra Hawke's second hand dragged him to his feet by the forearm.

"Look at you both, you're an absolute mess!"

The boys exchanged a look, studying the others' messy, dirt-caked hair, dusty faces and muddy skin. Their damp clothes clung to them, dripping brown with earth and scuffed here and there with grass stains. After a moment's pause, the two broke into matching grins.

"This isn't funny. Straight to the tub with you!"

Leandra began to steer her troublesome duo back inside, past the amused chuckles of their father and the startled stare of their sister. She released the boys at the stairs, leaving them to climb on their own as she remained on their heels with every step. The children were herded into the bathroom, where their mother left them for only a moment. She returned with towels, throwing one over Carver's head and the other over Garrett's, who reached up to catch it before it covered him.

"Wash." She demanded, pointing to the large tub. "You're not eating until you're both spotless."

With that, she slammed the door behind her and could be heard stomping down the stairs. The boys looked to one another again and their grins returned before they burst into a unanimous laughter.

* * *

Bethany ate dinner with her mother and father in relative silence, listening to her parents chatter idly about their days as her own attention was on the floor above them. She could hear the muffled voices of her brothers and the occasional aggressive splash of water. Malcolm and Leandra ignored the noises, but Bethany was curious and unable to do so as easily.

At least, until there was a thump that shook the ceiling.

All three of the present Hawkes jumped at the noise, staring at one another in stunned silence for a moment. Eventually, Malcolm eased into a knowing chuckle, tucking back into his dinner as Leandra stared up at the ceiling and furrowed her brow. Bethany stared too, mouth open with wonder.

Then came a desperate series of muffled thumps from above, much quieter than the initial had been.

"Carver!" Leandra's voice was alarmingly loud, startling her daughter into dropping her fork. "Stop trying to drown your brother!"

There was a long pause, during which Beth's amber eyes looked to her Father, her Mother, then back to the ceiling with concern.

At last, they heard an answer shouted down to them, muffled by the walls and floor, but audible none the less.

"_I wasn't actually gonna do it!"_

Malcolm laughed even more, while Leandra let out a slow sigh and massaged her temples with long fingers. Bethany closed her gaping mouth, shook her head and dropped her gaze to her dinner.

"_Boys,_" she hissed.

* * *

**My eyeballs are tired.  
Also, Hello!**

**This is just a short, happier-times peice between heavy bits.**

**Thanks for reading this far, now I'd appreciate a review, too! I'll smile for you! :D**

**Toodles**

**Shmee**


	3. Corrupt

The room was consumed with fire.

Under any other circumstance, Bethany would have been afraid, but now she only watched with amazement, holding her staff tightly in both hands, keeping it close to her body as if concerned she'd interfere. In the middle of the blaze stood her brother, the eldest Hawke. The strapping lad of sixteen commanded the multiple rings of flames with a grace she knew she was leagues away from achieving.

The red-hot wisps of fire circled him, pulling close with a wave of his arm or widening their orbit upon his command. His staff twirled in his hands, jumping from right to left so fluidly Bethany hardly noticed the switches at all. He spun slowly, each step careful and deliberate and accented by the spiralling of the fire that surrounded him. When he completed his turn and the flames were at their strongest, Garrett Hawke gave his staff a few more quick spins, then cracked the base against the ground. The fire rushed to the base, twisting up the shaft of the staff until it exploded into light and colour in the space above the gem that decorated the top of the weapon.

The fire simply ceased to be after that, leaving no evidence of it's presence in the room other than the smothering heat of the air around her.

Her father, who watched with careful eyes at her side, clapped his hands together and stepped forward. Garrett smiled at the sound, turning to his father and wiping the sweat from his brow. Bethany followed behind the man, just as impressed with her brother's display.

"Excellent!" Malcolm announced, approaching his eldest son and clapping him on the shoulder. "You're doing a marvellous job, you've really started to shine with your magic over the years. I've got to say, I didn't really think you'd been taking your training seriously lately."

"I can't imagine why," said Garrett with a wide-eyed, innocent smile that was completely wasted on his father. Malcolm gave his boy's shoulder a fond squeeze, then turned his attention to his only daughter.

"Don't worry, Bethany," the girl straightened under her father's study, "I'm sure in three years' time, you'll already have put that display to shame." Bethany smiled at the vote of confidence, glad she wasn't being compared to her brother negatively. She mumbled a quick thank you as their Father walked for the exit, claiming he had some errands to attend to.

As soon as we was gone, Garrett let out a huge breath, making more noise than was necessary as he did so.

"Nervous, brother?" Bethany moved to stand where he had been moments before, summoning up a single ball of flame as she spoke. She passed it from hand to hand, testing her control.

Garrett decided to forgo the bench by the wall and instead plopped right down on the floor.

"No. Well, yes. But only because I was _convinced_ father knew I only got in just before dawn. I was half expecting to get a good tongue-lashing for being out gallivanting at odd hours of the morning."

"Your lucky your sister is so good at keeping Carver distracted when you're making an ungraceful attempt at re-entry through our window. Why not just use your own?"

"That's what they expect," said Garrett, matter-of-factly. "They never expect the dashing troublemaker to come through _someone else's _window. Had I tried coming through my own, I know I would've been caught for sure."

"Oh that's rubbish! You're just clamouring for attention."

"Maybe a little bit. What's life without a little drama?"

"Please, brother, our life is dramatic enough. I'd rather not have to move again. I like Lothering."

Garrett watched as his sister sent the little ball of flame in a tentative circle around herself, quickly bringing it back to her front, making it obvious that she was most comfortable controlling the flame when it was in front of her.

"I wasn't out putting on magic shows for the pleasant riff-raff of Lothering's night crowd, if that's what you're thinking. Nobody knows a thing about our magic, sister, stop worrying."

"Well then, what _were _you doing?"

"Practising my opera," Garrett said with a charming smile. "I find my voice sounds best when bellowed out at the most ridiculous hours of the night over the village."

"Ah," said Bethany, accepting her brother's attempts to dodge the truth by engaging in his sarcasm. "Here I thought that was a goat. I was prepared to call Carver to help me go put the poor thing out of its misery."

"You couldn't do that, you know how well Carver relates with the goats! They're hard-headed, prone to pointless bleating and have a superiority complex."

"Oh come now, not _all_ goats are like that. Just the Harris' goat. He's old and sickly."

"He'd get along swimmingly with Carver. Has the lad found a girl yet? If not, we should introduce them."

"Or perhaps we could explain to Carver why we're comparing him to farm animals, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear this one." Both mages turned at the third voice, eyes zeroing in on the boy leaning against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest with a scowl on his face.

"Carver!" called Garrett, quick to save face. "My _favourite_ brother!"

"Your _only_ brother, Garrett. That hardly counts for much coming from you."

"If it helps, you're my favourite brother, Carver, and I do have more than one." Bethany smiled sweetly, earning a look of doubt from her twin. Garrett feigned offense.

"Bethany, you wound me. I thought I was the favourite!"

"Oh stop, you two. I heard enough. I _would_ however, like to know what dear brother was doing out so late. That sounds like a good story." Carver fixed his brother with a harsh stare and advanced. Garrett sensed the challenge and picked himself up off the floor, brushing the dirt from his trousers and refocusing just in time to come face-to-face with his little brother. He had a good three inches on the boy, but that didn't stop the younger from glaring up with a look of annoyance.

"I don't suppose you heard the dying goat last night?"

"Don't try that rubbish on me, Garrett. You know it won't work. Now you tell me, or I tell father."

Garrett's smile died just a fraction, meeting the littlest Hawke's unimpressed stare with an unamused one of his own. Bethany lost her concentration in the tension and her fireball fizzed into nothing, making her jump as she tried to reign in the sibling rivalry before it got too out of hand.

"C-Carver, there's no need for-"

"You know," said Garrett slowly, "I liked you better when you were younger, and _unable to talk_."

"That's funny. I liked you better when you weren't an overconfident scoundrel with a pathetic excuse for a sense of humour. _Oh, wait!"_

There were a few long moments of tense silence, until Garrett's staff, which up until that point had been held loosely in the lad's grip, suddenly came between the two of them and was cracked against the ground with a solid sound. A plume of fire rose up from the weapon, singeing the air above the boys. It was enough to make Carver stumble back in alarm, scowling at the easygoing smile on Garrett's face as he twirled his staff around in his hands with confidence.

"You want to know so badly, baby brother? Come with me."

"W-what?" Carver was still composing himself from the little fire scare. "Come with you? Are you insane?"

"Quite possibly...I haven't been tested yet, after all." Garrett's face lit up with a cheerful grin, before the expression became more roguish, more daring. "You really want to know what I get up to, you should come with me and see for yourself." At Carver's obvious hesitance, Garrett pressed on, his tone becoming slower, more teasing. "Or, run off and tell daddy, let _him_ solve your problems for you. Nothing you're not used to, I'm sure."

"Fine." Carver took the bait, slashing his hand through the air with annoyance. "I'll go. But I swear, if this is another one of your stupid tricks –"

"Nonsense!" Garrett stepped forward, an air of cheeriness about him, "when have any of my tricks be entirely stupid? There's always been some sense to them!" His hand rested on his brother's shoulder, attached to a body that positively buzzed with energy. "Meet me outside the southern gates after mother and father have gone to bed. Bring your sword."

"My sword? Maker's balls, Garrett, what _have_ you been up to?"

"Shenanigans. But you'll be there?" Garrett grinned, fixing his brother with a hard stare that demanded an answer.

Carver grumbled the affirmative, entirely caught of guard for when Garrett suddenly pulled him into a crushing hug.

"There's a good lad, little brother!" he paused to peck the boy on the forehead, earning a cry of exasperation and some earnest struggles. "I'll meet you then, try not to get caught!" And with that, Garrett was gone, brushing past his brother and heading for the stairs back up to the main floor. Carver was completely caught off guard by his brother's more-erratic-than-usual behaviour. He took a moment to find his bearings, then went to follow the eldest Hawke, shouting questions and demanding answers.

Bethany was left alone in their underground practice study, clutching her staff tightly and staring with confusion after the pair of boys. She blinked a few times before calling quietly after them.

"Shall I come too, then?"

* * *

Carver and Bethany were waiting outside the southern gates shortly after their parents had retired for bed, as arranged. The problem was, they'd been there a for some time and there was neither sight nor sound of their elder brother. Carver paced anxiously in front of his sister, who leaned against the gatepost and fidgeted with her staff.

"I bet he stayed at home, he's going to tell mother and father we snuck out."

"Garrett wouldn't do that."

"Maybe he would, who knows? It would certainly throw them off his trail, so that they'd be too busy watching us to figure out what he's up to at night."

"Carver, you _know_ he's not like that."

"But we don't know what he _is_ like. How could we if he's out here doing maker-knows-what until dawn? He could be a whole different person out here!"

Bethany opened her mouth to protest, but something rang true in her brother's words. They really _didn't_ know their elder brother, if neither of them could accurately place what he would have to do out at night so frequently. The girl couldn't even draw up any good guesses, she could say nothing in confidence. The trouble with his sarcasm was that it painted everything he did, it was tricky to pick out when he was being truly sincere unless he wanted others to know it. Even his siblings, those arguably closest to him, were sometimes at a loss with how to handle him.

"I'm sure..." she said at last, finding the words hard to gather, "I'm sure whatever this is, he wouldn't tell father on us for it."

Just as she had begun to convince herself of her own assurances, she spotted him. Garrett Hawke was striding down the main road towards them, his staff strapped securely to his back. He spotted them waiting and grinned, nodding to them both as they turned to meet him.

"Did I keep you waiting long enough to encourage suspense?"

"I don't know if suspense is the right word, brother," Carver ground out.

"Longing, then?"

Bethany cut in before her twin could speak.

"Where are we going, Garrett? And what's going on?"

The eldest Hawke smiled devilishly, put a finger to his lips and hissed a quiet shush, insisting that it was a surprise. He continued on, past the twins who turned to follow him after a moment's hesitation. He was leaving the safety of the village and heading onto the long, sometimes dangerous road to Ostagar. His siblings stuck close to him in the dark, afraid to speak out in case they drew the attention of something sinister as they walked.

They walked for what seemed like hours, Garrett's sure-footed stride doing little to comfort them, as they had no idea where they were or where they were going or why they needed to arm themselves to go there. They didn't even chance small whispers to one another, though many unsure glances were exchanged.

When Carver was visually beginning to lose his patience, Garrett suddenly turned, leading them off the road and down a smaller, less used path. Bethany followed without question, her curiosity stronger than her fear, but Carver hesitated, watching as his siblings trudged into the thicket.

He couldn't let himself hesitate at the dark – he was the warrior of their little troupe, after all – and Bethany was pretty useless in a fight anyways. He hurried after them, falling into step behind his sister and keeping an ever watchful eye on their surroundings.

Finally, they broke into a lit clearing, a clearing that smelled of woodfire and something being cooked.

They'd entered a campsite that was littered with poorly dressed, ragged looking men, women and children. Sheets and tarps were set up on low-hanging branches to act as tents, and clothes hung from ratty-looking ropes tied between trees. There were a few men sitting about the campfire clad in leather armour, whose expressions lit up at the sign of the trio.

"Hawke!" one called, waving almost too enthusiastically, "you're here! Thank the maker!" He jumped to his feet, only then noticing the two younger children who followed. "Oh? Who're they? These the siblings you were talkin' about?"

Garrett reached the man and was drawn into an awkward hold, the man curling his arm around the eldest Hawke sibling and pulling the boy against him in a friendly greeting.

"Yessir, Roland. This is them. They wanted to see what I got up to at night. I tried telling them I was brushing up on my Opera, they didn't believe me, so I thought I'd take them out to meet my appreciative audience." The twins stood in a stunned silence, side by side, as the man named Roland burst out into a guffaw of laughter.

"Oh, Opera! Boy, you're a riot! But come on, Cora's absolutely swamped tonight, she could use your help." Roland turned Garrett around, steering him by the grip on his shoulder towards one of the bigger tents. Garrett cast a look over his shoulder and motioned for the twins to follow, who took a moment to collect themselves and scurried after their eldest sibling.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere was warm and damp. Roland shoved the young mage inside, his siblings stumbling in after him in confusion. In the centre of the floor was a thick mat, laid out to support the prone, young girl who'd been placed there. Over her unconscious form, a elderly woman sat hunched, her hands forming intricate motions over the girl's body. At the mage's entrance, she stopped suddenly and looked up, a relieved expression forming on her wrinkled features.

"Oh, Hawke, thank the Maker. Come, I need you." She then spotted the two smaller children peering out from behind him. "Oh? Is this...yes...Another mage. Your sister I assume? And..." her eyes flicked to Carver, who felt something cold and probing stretch over his mind. He shivered. "This little warrior...he must be your brother. Such bravery in your heart, boy, be mindful that it does not taint you with pride."

Carver wasn't sure whether or not to feel grateful for the compliment or defensive over the warning. He settled for nodding, watching as his brother sat opposite the elder woman. Without a word – and really, Carver was surprised with how little his brother was speaking in this place – he lifted his arms, a green glow surrounding his hands and bathing the girl below him in light. The woman did the same, but she shone with a blue light that seemed warm and welcoming.

Feeling lost, Carver leaned over to his sister and breathed questions.

"What's going on? What is Garrett doing?"

"They're healing, Carver. Garrett knows healing magic!"

The twins watched in awe as the girl slowly came back to consciousness, bolting upright and sputtering with coughs. The old woman smiled, hummed, then rose from her place with difficulty, hobbling over to where a bucket of water hung on a short branch and washing her hands. Garrett remained by the girl's side, rubbing her back with a smile.

"Welcome back to the world of the wakeful, friend!" he chirped, earning a grateful look from the girl as she rose shakily from the floor. She bowed to the woman, then to Garrett, murmuring thanks as she excused herself from the tent. Carver watched her go, peeking outside the to see the girl collapse into the open, waiting arms of another woman – likely her mother.

"What's all this then?" he asked again, not entirely satisfied with Bethany's explanation. Instead of Garrett, the old woman turned and supplied the children with an answer.

"We are gypsies, boy. Travelling mages, warriors and rogues alike. We pick up strays along the way and get them back on their feet. We help Apostates regain their strength, we heal the wounds of peasants and the deserted. We protect those who travel with us from the Templars and those who might seek to do them harm."

"So, what, Garrett's a gypsy now?" Carver fixed a glare on his brother, feeling abandoned. Why hadn't he told them this? Did he not trust them? They may not have always seen eye to eye, but they were siblings!

"No...no...one of our scouts was in Lothering a fortnight ago, he met young master Hawke in the market, sensed him for what he was – sensed his potential. He asked him to meet us out here, and he graciously agreed. I have been teaching your brother how to tap the healing magics within him, and he has in return, been assisting me with our growing demands."

"So you're staying here now, then?" Bethany asked softly, speaking to the elder mage with respect.

"No, no. We must always keep moving, in case we are found." As the woman spoke, Bethany nodded, drawing her lips into a tight line. Until Lothering, they lived a life much like this troupe's, constantly relocating in fear of being tracked down. "With another moon's half-cycle, we will have to find a new camp. Some of those here tonight will remain with us. Others will take what we offer them and go their own ways."

"What of you, then?" Carver directed the harsh question to his brother, who now sat on his rump, cross-legged and leaning on his staff as the woman explained their way of life. "When they go, are you going with them?"

"Of course not, you twit." Garrett waved off his brother's accusations like he would a fly. "I'm just here to help, and to learn."

"Have you learned much?" asked Bethany, now studying their workspace, curious as to her brother's progress and whether or not she could make the same sort of advancements with her own magic. "Father hasn't taught us any healing magic yet. He won't."

Again, it was the elder who responded and not their brother.

"No, he would not. Healing magic is a dangerous thing for the user. It forces the mage to open and embrace the Fade closer than they would with the destructive arts, healers are even more at risk of demonic possession, for they face more demons drawn in by their intimacy with the Fade and its virtuous spirits."

None of this was sitting well with Carver, he found himself frustrated and confused at his brother's actions.

"So why learn this magic at all, if it's so dangerous?" he demanded, folding his arms in front of him.

"Healing magic is a wondrous thing, and the good it can preform is limitless. Nothing worth having is without a price, young one."

"I wasn't asking _you._" Carver's glare bore into his elder brother, who failed to see what was so distressing about all of this. "Why would _you_ learn this magic? If you know the risks, you should know better than to put us all in danger like that! What if you get possessed? Or worse, what if you get discovered? We're finally settling into Lothering and you'll see us all moved again!"

"Well, I'm glad to know me getting _possessed_ falls behind having to relocate again in order of 'most distressing things Garrett is doing right now'"

"You didn't answer the question."

"I want to learn it," said the elder Hawke with a shrug. "It's a good, useful skill, and I'm helping these people. People like us, mind you, who are just trying to catch a break from the Templars."

"I think learning to heal is a good thing, brother," Bethany cut in, though to which brother she spoke was unspecified. "Good healers are hard to come by, and a lot of people will keep quiet about their abilities because of the good they can do. The Apostates that get turned in the most are blood mages, or those who use a lot of destructive magic. People are reluctant to see a healer leave the community."

"Well great, then why don't you hang around and learn it too, then? Double or nothing, why not?" Carver spoke with sarcasm and was alarmed at how Bethany's eyes lit up at the suggestion. Before he could fix his mistake, the old woman cut back into the family matter.

"I'm afraid you are too young, child. The threat of demons is very real. You share similar talents, similar potential, but with age comes a maturity and experience that helps to fend off the temptations of the Fade."

"Garrett, mature? Oh that's rich."

Carver was ignored.

"I'm sure that in time you too will be able to learn the art, but know that it is rare for even one as young as master Hawke to begin the study."

"Then why teach him at all?" Carver demanded.

"He wanted to learn, and the Fade runs strong with him. Your sister, too, now that I have met her. To let such talent go untapped would be foolish."

_You have nothing to fear from me, I am but a visitor, drawn here by such wondrous, untapped talents._

Carver felt himself go rigid and his blood ran cold. He gritted his teeth, aware his face was paling by the way his siblings both looked at him in concern. He said something, but the blood was pumping too loudly in his ears for him to understand himself. Instead he turned, storming out of the tent. He ignored the calls of some of the mercenaries around the fire and marched out of the camp, fear and anger dotting his vision equally as he retraced their steps.

So angry was he that it was a reflex for him to grab his sword and swing it round when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. The blade of his sword met the sturdy material of Garrett's staff, who lifted it to parry his brother's blow.

"_You_ leave me alone!" Carver hissed, drawing back but failing to sheath his blade. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"Then we won't talk. We'll sing. It'll be a glorious musical!"

Unable to reign in his anger and egged on by his brother's whimsical attitude, Carver swung his sword again. If anything, he was glad Garrett had at least the mind to tell his little brother to arm himself, now he had a weapon to cleave his idiot elder into pieces.

But Garrett had been doing the same training Carver had with his weapon, and lifted his staff to catch the blade a second time.

"Fine, then we'll fight." At these words, void of any humour and backed by a serious expression that was so unlike him, Garrett gave his staff a shove, forcing the little warrior to stumble back.

"Fine!" Carver launched himself forward, swinging his sword around only to have it parried again, then guided to the ground as Garrett shifted the angle of his staff and used Carver's own frustrated weight against him. At the shame of being so easily blocked thrice over, the littlest Hawke felt tears spring to his eyes and a tightness in his throat. He bit back the urge to cry and instead pulled a fist back and punched his brother solidly across the jaw. Garrett stumbled, lifting his staff in time to block another swing, catching the second punch his little brother threw with a hand.

Garrett shoved the blade away and jabbed the younger Hawke in the stomach with the butt of his staff, doing so a second time to force the boy to back away.

"You're an idiot!" Carver screamed, lifting his sword to strike again and again, his frustration growing as each strike was deflected or dodged. "A giant, blighted, soot-for-brains, selfish idiot!"

"And I suppose you think yourself _much_ better," countered Garret, jabbing his brother harshly in the shoulder, "throwing a tantrum like this. You want people to take you seriously, baby brother? Stop acting like a spoiled brat."

"Spoiled brat? I'm the only one of us who shows any concern for our family! You'll have the Templars on our doorstep by the end of the season, mark me!"

"Well pardon me for thinking the world revolves around more than just _us_." Garrett twisted away from his brother's blade, which had been stabbed towards his arm. At least the boy had the decency not to make any blatantly lethal blows, even in his rage. "Didn't you hear a word of what Bethany was saying? People don't turn in healers!"

"But people _do_ turn in inexperienced idiots who steal away in the night to meet with a cult of mages!"

"A cult of – Carver, are you even _listening_ to yourself anymore? These are _homeless_ people just trying to get by! What crime have they committed?!"

"_Corrupting you!_"

Carver found his feet swept out from underneath him by the base of Garrett's staff and he fell back on his rear, going to rise only to find the weight of his brother's boot on his chest and the end of that staff by his throat.

"Andraste's unmentionables, Carver, what are you going on about?"

Carver wasn't sure when he'd started crying, but he could feel the warmth streaming down his cheeks now, cutting clean lines through the dust and grime that had dirtied his face during their tussle.

"Why wouldn't you tell us this? That you were...running off to a clan of gypsies in the middle of the night? Do you not trust us?"

"Carver, it's not like that."

"But it is! Or you would've told us! You run off every night into the dark, where maker-knows what's lurking around there, on your own, without help. You _know_ it's dangerous! If not wild things, then slavers, Templars, mage-hunters! All to come to this ratty place and learn an art that puts you in even _more_ danger, and you don't even have the care to tell your own _brother!_"

"Carver..."

But the littlest Hawke would hear none of it. His hands came to his face to wipe away the tears, smearing more dirt on his face and irritating his eyes as he did so, earning no relief from crying.

"If you'd just told us...just told me when it happened, we could've helped! Sod that stupid healing stuff, I don't even care about all that magic rubbish! But we would keep you safe, so you weren't out in the dark and the danger alone! Whatever demons you faced, you'd have us to face them with! Why don't you trust me to even _know_? Do you truly hate me that much?"

Garrett was, for the first time in a while, stunned into silence. Gradually, he pulled his staff away from the prone form of his brother and stepped back. A hand came to his face to rub at his temples and shield his eyes. He dragged the sweaty hand down his face and grimaced before putting all of his weight on his staff in a tired lean.

"Carver, I could never hate you. You're my brother."

"You could've fooled me."

"You're don't exactly radiate love and hugs yourself, you know."

"Then _why_ wouldn't you tell us?"

"The same reason you're so upset. I was wandering out into the dark, into danger, pretty much every night since that day at the market. Even if I didn't run into trouble on the way here, I wasn't exactly out of the briar patch. I'm sure Father would love to have a sit-down with you and list all the dangers of braving the Fade."

"But-"

"I was protecting you, Carver. You _and_ Bethany. If I have to go down, I'd never forgive myself for dragging your sorry hide with me."

"But we could have _helped_," Carver protested, his broken-record response feeling weak now.

"I know, and I'm sorry for not telling you, but we're really not thinking all the differently."

"Why put yourself in danger at all?"

"To trick myself into thinking I could be more than just a smart mouth with a pennant for fire."

Carver stared. For all the years he'd known his brother – his entire life, exactly – this was the first time he'd ever heard Garrett Hawke mention a personal insecurity, ever shown he was not all hopped up on self-esteem as he appeared to be. It was weird, like he was seeing a side of his brother he felt shouldn't be there. Garrett had always been the face of confidence, a silver-tongued genius able to talk his way out of anything.

If anything, Carver had always been jealous of that Garrett. The Garrett who, no matter what, never cracked, never faltered or doubted himself. He could get out of anything, he could _handle_ anything. He lead naturally and followed with grace. The littlest Hawke had always pined after that certainty, that confidence that made others look to him for direction.

But thinking on that now, Carver realized it was foolish to think his brother such an invincible giant of character. Everyone had insecurities, his brother was no super-being capable of dodging these faults of humanity. But, narrow-minded and stubborn, Carver had only ever seen what his brother wanted. He had never thought to look past it, never even thought to _ask_.

He felt foolish.

His brother's hand in front of his face brought him back to the present matter. He hesitated, but accepted the offer and used the arm to pull himself back to his feet. His brother was smiling, not that cheeky, know-it-all smile he was used to seeing, but the rare, humbled smile that had always been there whenever Garrett didn't need to speak to say the words

_I understand._

Carver nodded, the grip on his brother's hand shifting to clasp his forearm fondly.

"You're still an idiot," Carver said at last.

"And you're still a brat, glad we're on the same page."

"Slavers!"

Bethany burst out of the bushes, her eyes wide, hair frazzled and tears streaming from her face. She didn't have the mind nor the time to take in her brothers' dusty, worn out appearance. She gestured frantically in the direction of the camp, her arms waving and her voice shaking as she all but sobbed the news out.

"Slavers are in the camp! There's so much fighting...some of...the soldiers and...and...the mages are d-dead, and they're after the healer!"

Carver looked to his elder brother, fearful for what he knew the eldest Hawke was thinking. Logic would demand they turn and get away while they could, but unfortunately their elder sibling didn't always follow the _logical_ path.

"Garrett...Garrett no!"

But the young lad had already launched himself back in the direction of camp, the glow of fire surrounding him as he approached the place where tendrils of black smoke curled up from the trees.

* * *

**Grawraawrrwawrrrawrr.  
Aren't I scary?**

**Hello there, quiet readers, how are you doing? Were you aware that you are all wonderful?**

**No?**

**Because I was. You are great! :3**

**And here we have more Hawke-family drama. Can't go too long without it or everything just feels so surreal. Just so you're all aware, the mage!Garrett here will have an affinity for the elemental branch of magic, and eventually dabble in the Spirit Healer talents, because A, Fire is cool and B, who doesn't love a healer? I love a healer. I love ALL the healers.**

**Anyways, I'll have the next part up for you soon. In the meantime, I would love it if you could give me a review, just to know what you think. It can be negative, positive, constructive or just to say hi - I'm likely to respond to it, and I love chatting with those who take the time to read my stuff. You deserve it!**

**So please, click that little review button and talk to me! I don't bite hard!**

**Thanks so much for reading this far,**

**Toodles~**

**Shmee**


	4. Draining

Garrett burst out into the clearing surrounded by flame, instantly drawing the attention of some of the slavers that had been busy binding their catches. Their eyes fell upon the youth who radiated power and their gazes became hungry.

"Mage!" one shrieked, before he was blasted back by a fireball. Two others turned to the eldest Hawke, their blades at the ready. Hawke kept the rings of fire circling around him, daring someone to approach and be biffed aside by a ball of flame. They circled uncertainly, eyes searching for an opening – for a weakness. This focus is what made them entirely unprepared for the little ball of rage that came charging out of the dark of the forest, his blade at the ready. Carver slashed his sword across the chest of the closest rogue, leaving his brother to roast the second now that he was off the defensive.

"You shouldn't be here!" Carver hissed, backing closer to his brother with the thought of protecting him.

"When have I ever done what I was told?"

Garrett advanced, his brother hesitantly going to follow, if only to serve as his shield while the elder Hawke sent distracted slavers up in flame. For the most part, they went through the camp picking very little fights with the invaders. Garrett was making a bee line for the healer's tent, no doubt to come to the aid of his mentor. Bethany had turned her attention to the gypsies and mages that had been left bound on the floor by otherwise occupied slavers. She used her hunting knife to cut them free, blasting back any who dare approach with a mental wave of force – something she'd always been good at.

The brothers made it to the other side of camp, only to hesitate at what waited for them.

The old woman – Cora, as she'd been called – was standing amidst a litter of corpses, surrounded by a thin veil of red.

"Blood magic," Carver hissed, pointing out what had stunned his brother into silence.

Cora drew blood from the corpses of her allies and enemies alike, using the powerful magic she drew to tear apart the slavers than threatened her and those under her charge. It was clear she needed no assistance, but the act of her defence was shocking, disgusting. Garrett turned away, moving his attention to the girl he'd healed earlier and her mother, who huddled together under the taunts and threats of a large warrior.

The eldest Hawke directed his anger there, turning his fire on the well-armoured individual who barely noticed the burns he received through his metal plating. He rounded on the mage, non-threatened and unimpressed as Carver rushed in to challenge him at close range. He knocked aside the little warrior with the hilt of his blade, sending the boy stumbling into the bushes.

"Young mages fetch nice prices in the Imperium, boy. Make this easy on yourself."

Garrett snarled and gathered together more flames, a sea of fire washing over the warrior with a push of Hawke's arms. However, this was not the tank's first tussle with fire magic, and the enchantments on his armour served to protect him from the brunt of the damage. He used the cover of Garrett's blinding fire to advance quickly, bursting through the wall of flame to the caster behind it.

In one giant hand, the warrior snatched Garrett's neck and lifted him clean off the ground, suspending him in the air. The boy's staff hit the dirt as his hand flew to his throat and he gave a choked cry of pain. The bear of a man switched his grip from the throat to just underneath the child's jaw, no longer choking him but probably causing a great deal more pain, if the cries were any indication.

Garrett's struggling was swiftly stopped when the slaver's opposite palm hit the boy's stomach, his fingers digging into the soft, unprotected flesh of the youth's midsection. The boy gasped as if breaking the surface of water, his struggling slowly stopping as his eyes went wide.

"Feel that, mage child? I was a Templar, once. Your magic is nothing to me," the man hissed. As the boy gradually went limp with the draining, the warrior was distracted, entirely unprepared for when a sharp blade was shoved into his ribs and _twisted._

"You put my brother _down_," hissed a young voice behind him. The man tasted blood, enraged at the blindside. He dropped the mage, who clattered to the floor like a doll, only to round on the young fool who had struck him. The boy's blue eyes glared up at him, shielded partially by a dark fringe of hair that matched the mage he'd just discarded. He hissed, the blade still lodged in his flesh, and reached for the child, only to find his arm froze mid-swing.

"You'll not harm that boy, brute."

Cora had disposed of most of the slavers, now turning her fatal attention to the man who choked, beginning to claw at his own skin when the blood beneath it began to boil. He howled, the sound striking fear into young Carver's heart just before he dropped like a stone, a terrible, muffled squishing noise filling the air. Carver watched in horror as bruises began to cover the man's body, who had gone deathly still.

"Carver!"

Bethany's voice drew him from his fearful stare and forced his attention back to their elder brother. He scrambled around the corpse of the warrior to where Garrett lay unconscious.

"What's happened?" the boy demanded, hitting his knees beside his brother as Bethany drew the elder Hawke's head into her lap.

"Father spoke of this. I think it's a draining. Templars are taught the ability to smite mages, so they can subdue them."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He just had everything energy-related ripped out of him, Carver! He's going to be a little worse for wear after something like that!"

Carver made a face, unsure how to handle his brother being stunned and cleansed like this. He wasn't left pondering for long, for in the aftermath of the attack, Cora found time to approach the Hawke trio. Bethany looked to her with wide eyes, while Carver completely countered his sister's expression with a hostile scowl.

"Blood mage," he hissed.

Cora brushed off the title like nothing.

"I do what I must to keep those I protect safe. Plus, having the favour of demons makes the dangers of healing less prominent."

Carver bristled as the old woman stooped over their brother, that blue light engulfing her as she held her hands above the motionless boy. He opened his mouth to stop her, but found himself hesitating, waiting to see if her talents would bring the boy back from his stunned state of mind.

Sure enough, Garrett's eyes fluttered open, and once he realized who was hunched over him, he shoved her back and bolted upright, scrambling to his feet and struggling to keep his balance. Carver was there first to support his wavering brother by holding tightly to his arm. Bethany followed shortly after, loyally standing by her brother's side as he pointed an accusing finger at the old mage before them.

"You're a blood mage! A bloody blood mage!" Carver wasn't sure if that was an attempt at humour or Garrett in a state of hysteria. "I was...you are...I..."

"I am a blood mage, yes, but only for the purest of reasons, I assure you."

"Blood magic isn't pure," Bethany pointed out, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"This is true, but it is powerful. Those I'm charged to care for, I can keep safe."

"Did you...were you..." Garrett was having a hard time with words, the normally silver-tongued youth tripping over his sentence like a stuttering child. "Were you intending to teach me blood magic?"

Carver stiffened, his eyes darting to the boy he supported. Something told him this wasn't a random question. Had she hinted at something like this in their past interactions? He found his answer in Cora, the way she hesitated, spoke slowly and confirmed his fears.

"I was planning to encourage you to embrace the art...yes...when you were a little more stable in your healing magic..."

"I...I would...You...Liar!" Garrett sputtered, choking on his words like something vile in his mouth. Of all the things he and Bethany had been taught, the Hawke mages were told that blood magic was to be avoided at all costs. Malcolm often spoke with a heavy heart at how so many mages turned to it with no other options. Those who remained with their sanity and humility were so often ashamed by their actions, even if they'd made the wrong choice for the right reasons. All blood mages sullied the already unstable reputation of their kind.

"You mean to say, that to protect your family and the ones you love, you would not even _consider_ at least to better your understanding of blood magic? You've such talents, boy, don't let ignorance encourage you to waste them."

Carver decided he didn't like the tone of the woman's voice, nor the way she looked to his brother expectantly.

"Such talents," the woman repeated, "you and your sister are talented young mages. You could do much if you simply opened your mind to the possibilities. You've advanced beyond my expectations with healing, why not try your hand at something more worth your abilites? I can tell, your blood is meant for great things, master Hawke, I only wish to guide you there."

The youngest Hawke felt sickened by the words, by the tone of voice in which the old woman spoke. It was bitter sweet, her eyes betraying the greed her face hide with concern and kindness. But what surprised him most was the weight Garrett was putting on him, as if nodding off. Carver looked up to his brother, his blood running cold at the half-lidded expression he wore.

_Blood Magic is a terrible art. It gives the user abilities that no man or woman should possess...the abilities to influence others on a mental scale, to force them into things they would never do._

_Mind control?_

_Something like that. Blood is powerful within a person, having it controlled by someone outside yourself is never a good thing._

"Garrett, hey, we should go." Carver nudged his brother and tightened the grip he held about his kin's waist. "It'll be light soon, we need to get home."

"Father will be terribly cross if we're not in bed before he wakes..." Bethany had realized just as Carver had what exactly was going on here. She tugged on her brother's hand, while the blood witch just kept talking, every word drawing their dear brother further into her net.

"Blood magic is not something to be feared. People fear what they do not understand. Understand the power, and you lose the fear of it. You could protect your family without fear, without uncertainty. With your _talents_, the art would be easy for you."

Carver turned an angry glare to the old woman, who now seemed to resonate a reddish glow. She held out a withered hand to the trio, though her eyes remained fixed on the eldest.

"Come, boy, and let me show you the ancient art. It only consumes those who do not possess the ability to control it."

"Stop it!" hissed Carver, his anger evaporating into surprise when Garrett suddenly stepped forward, as if in a trance. Finally, as the boy advanced on the woman with a careful slowness, the elder allowed her sharp glare to fall upon the male twin.

"_No_. Your brother wastes his abilities smothered under protection from something he needn't fear. I never intended to let such talent get away. He will stay with me and take my place when I am gone. This troupe needs a healer, it needs a protector. No one is yet better suited to the task than this child."

"You're a horrible old lady, you'll release him at once!" Bethany cracked her staff against the ground, her hands erupting into flames as her brother readied his sword, unsure if either of them were really prepared to take down a blood mage that currently had their elder brother snared within a mental trap.

"I will not. And you'd be wise to see yourselves out, or I will have you _shown_ out."

With those words, Garrett turned, summoning his staff to him and standing between his siblings and the mage.

Facing the twins.

"Garrett?"

The boy suddenly erupted with fire, making what flames Bethany could summon to her hands seem small and pointless. The twins shifted closer together as the fire orbiting their brother stretched farther out, skimming just in front of them, threatening to burn.

"Brother, no!"

Bethany stepped in front of Carver, using her staff to dispel the ball of fire that shot towards them. Acting on instinct, Carver charged out from behind Bethany and rushed the elder Hawke, lifting his blade. With a calm certainty, Garrett jabbed forth at the boy's exposed stomach, causing him to double over at the gut blow. Bethany launched a counter attack over her brother's winded form, twin wisps of fire closing in on Garrett like a pincer.

Spinning his staff from one hand to the next, Garrett struck both attacks into smoke, before steadying himself and raising his hands – alight with fire – skyward.

"Brother, get down!"

Carver hit the ground at his sister's words, aware that she was suddenly above him just as it began to rain heavy orbs of flame. The girl perched above her twin, using her staff to dispel what flames fell around them to the best of her ability. The heat still singed their clothes and hair, but she was doing a marvellous job.

"Cover me, Beth!"

Carver charged forward, trusting the ability of his twin as he rushed his brother a second time. This time, with his arms raised to the night sky, Garrett was unable to stop his kin and the boy charged headlong into his elder's stomach, knocking him flat on his back in a sudden tackle. Carver heard the air rush out of his brother's lungs, and lifted his head to call to Bethany, but the twins were on the same wavelength.

Twin wisps of flames flew over the boys' heads, flying straight into the undefended gut of the blood mage that had been pulling their brother's strings. She shrieked at the blow, her concentration broken.

Carver sat up, straddling his brother's torso and keeping him pinned beneath his weight.

Garrett grinned up at the youngest Hawke, looking tired but otherwise alright. His voice was groggy when he spoke, but this did nothing to douse his sense of humour.

"See? Didn't I tell you the ladies find me irresistible?"

Angry and scared and shaken to tears for his brother's safety, Carver's reaction was to punch the youth solidly across the face. Garrett cried out in pain, mumbling a curse as he shoved the younger twin off and rolled to his knees. The eldest Hawke grumbled something under his breath in irritation, picking his staff off the floor and turning his attention to the blood mage, who now seethed at the lot of them.

"Yeah, so, that's easily going on my list of things I never want to experience ever again."

Cora hissed, digging her nails into her palms until she drew blood, drawing the life out of her as the mist gathered around her hands. She was preparing another spell, but the elder Hawke was a step ahead of her. A blast of cold air shot forward from the boy's staff, rocketing across what little space remained between them and instantly encased the woman in ice.

Bethany rushed forward to her brothers, helping her twin off the floor and grabbing the hand of her elder sibling with urgency.

"We need to leave, we'll admire your handiwork later." Carver muttered something bitterly and Garrett hurriedly agreed. The siblings were out of the camp in a heartbeat, ignoring the eyes that watched them from within tents and the shadows of the forest.

Not a word was spoken the whole way back.

When their rush finally came to a halt, they were in the fields that flanked their cozy little home in Lothering. With time to spare, the trio paused to compose themselves and decide their next steps. Bethany was the first to collapse into the grass, laying on her back and looking to the stars, which were beginning to fade with the approach of dawn.

Carver and Garrett exchanged a tense look over her prone form, and the elder of the two was the first to settle down in the grass beside their sister. When Carver followed suit, the three sat in silence, unsure what to say or how to proceed.

It was Carver who spoke first.

"So. It's safe to say you won't ever be going back there again."

"You guys positively suck the fun out of everything I do."

Carver's wide-eyed look of anger shot to his brother, and he probably would've started yelling were it not for his twin's hand settling softly over his own and giving it a light squeeze. The knowing amber-eyed stare of Bethany gently brought him down from his sudden, rage-induced high. This was how Garrett dealt with shock. He _had_ to speak freely, or he would break down.

Carver had to remember his brother was _not_ a perfect being.

"It's a gift," he ground out through clenched teeth, and the soft smile Garrett gave him in return was almost worth holding his tongue for.

"Do we...do we tell mother and father?" Bethany asked softly.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I have a good bruise on my jaw from -the-face there. I could pass that off as an accident. I fall out of bed all the time. Or, I could've been jumping on the bed again. When will I learn that despite the name Hawke, we just are not able to fly?"

Bethany laughed lightly, trying to lighten the heavy mood of her twin, who was not so eager to cave to his brother's whimsical attitude.

"If we tell Father, he'll probably have an aneurism." Carver grumbled.

"So it's settled, we won't murder daddy dearest with the news of our escapades!"

Garrett sprawled back on the grass with a long sigh.

"But...it feels wrong to keep this a secret...doesn't it?" Bethany fidgeted, massaging at her knuckles in worry as her eyebrows arched upwards, seeking the opinions of her brothers.

"It _is_ wrong," said Carver, glaring at the ground. "But we solved the problem ourselves. Does he really need to know?"

"He doesn't need to, but he should," she protested quietly, though even she didn't sound so sure of her argument. She didn't really think he needed to know either, but she was so used to being the voice of reason between her brothers, it was a reflex she couldn't help.

"Well, why don't we sleep on it? We're tired, the two of you are covered in soot and I have a bruise to nurse. We'll meet later today and decide what to do."

The twins exchanged a look, then gave a unanimous tired sigh, nodding. The trio helped each other to their feet and, with the weight of the night on their shoulders, trudged home.

* * *

There was a knock at the door to Malcolm's study, one that came at a time far earlier than the man was used to. Most of the house wasn't even up until a little later in the day. He looked outside to where the rising sun still hovered just over the horizon, confirming his concern for the time. He turned back to face the door, peering over his reading glasses curiously.

"Yes?"

The door opened slowly as one of his troublesome trio let themselves in. They shut the door behind them and turned to face the head of the house with a look of seriousness about them.

One look at the child set the man's jaw in a hard line. He put down his quill and pushed away his notes, motioning for the youth to take the empty seat on the other side of his desk. The boy crossed the room and sat with a long sigh, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees, intertwining his fingers together and resting his chin atop them.

There were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, his hair messier than was could be excusable for bedhead and his face was smeared with soot and dirt and overnight, the flesh of his jaw on the right side had blossomed into colours of purple and blue.

The eldest Hawke, the one most prone to underestimating the gravity of his situations, looked to his father with a weight on his shoulders and guilt in his eyes.

The study was silent for some time as the boy lowered his eyes and sat in thought, his father studying the bruise on his face and the uncharacteristic slump of his shoulders. When the silence had stretched out for long enough, the man leaned forward onto his desk and spoke softly.

"What happened?"

The boy raised his stare, and Malcolm was shocked to see the amber colour of his eyes glazed over with the threat of tears. His eldest had not cried since he was an infant.

The boy lifted his hand, stared at it for a moment, then pressed his fingers lightly to his bruise, tilting his head so his father could better see the purple colour fading, paling until it vanished entirely. When he pulled his hand away, Malcolm could see no evidence of the wound at all. He frowned, recognizing the magic used and now trying to piece it into his eldest's appearance and weighted demeanour.

"It's not their fault. At all. It's mine, and without them, I probably wouldn't be here right now. I owe them my life, Father."

Malcolm felt the gravity of the situation wash over him in unison with the freezing of his heart, caused by concern. He forced a long breath out of his nose and leaned back in his chair. His boy was staring at him – a patient stare.

"Okay," said the man, giving a little nod. The boy turned his attention to his hands and sighed.

"A while ago, I met a man in the market who knew what I was. He said that he meant no harm, and that he knew a mage-woman who wanted to meet me. He swore up and down that he was no Templar, no slaver, and that he belonged to a troupe of people in need of help."

"And you believed him?"

"He wasn't lying."

Malcolm's jaw clenched, already feeling anger at his son's lack of concern for his safety bubble up from his heart.

"I followed him out to their camp, and I met a healer. She said she could sense the Fade with me, and told me she needed help, that she was tired from their travels and couldn't keep up with their demands for the week. She offered to teach me how to heal in return for my help. So I agreed. I've been sneaking out since then to go meet her."

Taking breaths to keep himself calm while his son spoke, Malcolm forced himself to think like the boy. No doubt, he'd only the best intentions in mind. He only wanted to help those who needed it, and healing, despite it's dangers, was a useful tool, once someone displayed the skill for it. He tried not to focus on the stupidity, on the blatant disregard for safety. Not yet.

"Bethany caught wind of what I was up to one night, helped me sneak back in, and Carver found out. They wanted to know what I'd been up to. I-I was selfish...I didn't want to be caught. I asked them to come see for themselves."

At this, Malcolm couldn't help the spear of rage that shot through his heart, but he stilled his tongue by clamping down on it with his teeth. His son, by the accepting expression of his eyes, knew his father was angry, and bowed his head in submission as he continued.

Somehow, this made it easier not to pummel the boy right then and there.

"When Carver saw what I'd been doing, he was...livid. Angry that I hadn't told them and that I was putting myself in danger, that I hadn't even the consideration to tell them what I was up to. He thought that by going together, he could've at least protected me, that we could've looked out for each other."

The boy raised his eyes to study his father's careful mask before continuing.

"The camp was raided, by slavers."

The man gripped his desk tightly, his fingers going white from the pressure.

"We fought them off. I...Carver, fought a former Templar to protect me." None of what the boy was saying was doing much to stop the man's sight from going white with suppressed rage. With the patience of a saint, Malcolm waited in silence.

"The woman who'd been teaching me...she was a blood mage. That was how she'd protected her troupe until then. She wanted to take me as an apprentice. She...she used...her blood magic...to..."

"I get it." Malcolm ground those three little words out from between clenched teeth, using all of his self control not to snap.

"I...well, yes...They stopped me, and Bethany stopped her, and we escaped. She won't be following us, I'm sure."

"And?"

"They don't know I'm telling you this. We entertained the idea of keeping it a secret, and they did so for my sake. Truly, without them, I would not be here now. All of this...this stupid, stupid mess...is entirely my fault. They shouldn't be lying for my sake. So I'm telling you, because I am the one who is wholly to blame. They had no idea what I was pulling them into. They reacted...better than I did. Where I should've turned away, I did not, and they followed only to keep me safe. I just...I wanted you to know that."

Malcolm sat for a very long time in silence, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his hands twined together in front of his mouth. The way young Garrett had explained the entire situation was intentional, he was taking all of the blame, making sure Malcolm knew who was responsible for the ideal, to protect his siblings as they had protected him.

A small part of him was proud of this adult-like maturity, but in his rage for such disregard for safety, in endangering his family and himself, it was hard to truly see Garrett as mature.

Clearly, the boy was expecting to be yelled at. He bowed his head in grim acceptance, and any other time, Malcolm may have just spoken his mind, to let the boy know just how _disgustingly foolish_ he'd been. But, studying the boy, the man could see the tears on the youth's face, the way his lip trembled and his shoulders tensed with the effort of holding in his cries.

There was nothing Malcolm could say that the boy was not expecting, none of the words the man had for his boy would come as a surprise. Maker only knew how long his son had been saying the very things that rattled in Malcolm's brain, waiting to be screamed out in a fury, to himself.

Watching his boy cry – quietly to himself while expecting the torrent he had brought himself in to receive, knowing full well he deserved it – made Malcolm draw a long breath in. Shaking, the man rose from his chair and walked around the desk. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder, holding it there firmly. Where his boy would've tensed up in anticipation, he simply sat, loose and waiting. His second hand came down on the boy's opposite shoulder, and using a bruising grip, he pulled his eldest son to his feet.

The boy stood, head bowed, still waiting, entirely unprepared for when Malcolm drew him slowly into an embrace.

"I...I cannot express with accurate words...how angry I am right now," he said, one hand moving from the shoulder to the boy's back, while the other held his child's head to his shoulder. "But I am glad you told me and I am glad you are safe. All three of you." He breathed out a slow breath, and a sob shook his first child's body. He did not lift his arms to return the hug, he simply stood there, limp, likely wanting to be hit more than hugged.

"I'm sorry," the boy breathed.

"I know. And I cannot forgive you, not yet."

Another sob, but the boy nodded against his father's shoulder.

"I would like you to return to your room. It would be wise to stay there for a time. I will send for you later. But thank you, for telling me the truth, and for doing this for your siblings."

The boy nodded again, going to push away from his father, but stopping when the man held firm. Another sob shook his body.

"I love you, boy, no matter the idiot things you do."

The boy made a noise that might've been a whimper, but it was choked out and muffled by his father's embrace. He was shaking uncontrollably now, the quivers held in check only by the strong arms around him. When the child stilled himself, Malcolm let him go, the boy's hands flying to his face to erase the evidence of tears. The man motioned for his eldest to show himself out, turning back to the window in dismissal. The boy was gone in a moment, brushing past his mother, who'd been leaning against the door to the study in a humble silence.

Leandra followed up her son's departure by entering the study, clearing her throat to let Malcolm know she was there. He turned to her, his face conflicted.

"I heard," she said, her features pulling into an unhappy look. The man nodded, agreeing with the unspoken words of his lover. She approached him, taking his hand in both of hers. He gripped them tightly, letting out a long sigh before bringing his wife's hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles. They stood like that for a moment, Leandra pulling a hand away only to brush it against the side of his face.

Finally, he composed himself, shooing the worry from his face with careful breaths. He nodded to his wife, brushing a stray hair from her face, then turning back to his desk.

"Could you get the twins for me, please?"

* * *

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	5. Experience

At eighteen, Garrett felt obligated to some nights on his own. Between daily lessons, training and family chores, the eldest Hawke was kept busy, but once in a while, with his father's blessing, he

was allowed a night off. One where the morning following would not be heralded by errands to be run and where, so long as he promised to keep his magic to himself, Garrett was free to do as he wished.

Almost every evening off Garrett had was spent the same. He would finish his chores for the day, clean the grime and sweat from his body with a wash, slip into something comfortable and head on down to the tavern to drink the night away with laughter. Some times his father accompanied him, and once well plastered with drink, they would gossip like schoolgirls over their mugs. They would talk of the family, of Lothering, or trade stories – Malcolm of his younger days, Garrett of the many stunts he pulled as a child that he managed to get away with.

But this father-son bonding was not a consistent event, and often the young man took only himself to the bar. He would happily socialize with the other gentlemen present, making fast friends thanks to his silver-tongued ways and cheerful disposition. As the night aged with time, young man would do as young men did: turn his charm on the ladies. If he was sober enough to remain upright through a conversation and the Maker smiled on his debauchery for whatever reason, the eldest Hawke boy would flirt his way into some private time with a lucky girl.

Typically, it wasn't that difficult an act, for Garrett Hawke of Lothering was no slouch in the looks department – nor were any of his siblings. All three of the Hawke children were easily identified by their jet-black hair and the eyes of their parents. Along with his magic, Bethany and Garrett had gotten their father's eyes while Carver's eyes were a bright, vivid blue – an entrancing colour he shared with his mother.

Garrett kept his hair short and only occasionally kept on top of his facial hair, finding the time to shave only once every couple of weeks or so. Carver, in typical teenaged fashion, was rebelling against his mother's constant requests to cut his hair. It was beginning to tickle the nape of his neck in length and hid his brilliant eyes behind a dark, messy curtain. Bethany needed no attention to her hair with the way her young body was developing, but kept it shoulder-length and manageable, the beginnings of curls showing near the tips.

While Malcolm Hawke would've preferred his family go relatively unnoticed, it was hard for anyone to ignore the adults his children were growing into.

"Adult" was a word Carver threw around a lot, eager to count himself amongst them but not quite yet experienced enough in the ways of the world to truly do so. His training with large, two-handed weapons certainly gave him the build of a brick house, but his boyish face betrayed his age – if the whine in his voice didn't indicate so prior. Much to his chagrin, Garrett simply did not pack on muscle like his little brother did, and after years of waiting, Carver finally had the advantage of weight.

It was rare that the boys got into tussles like they used to, so Carver's advantage was mostly used when they sparred together. Garrett was sworn off magic during these contests and forced to rely on his physical talent with his staff and his manoeuvrability. While both were admirable, he simply was not the close-combat warrior his brother was.

It was in the hours just before Garrett's appointed night off that Carver found his brother and asked for a friendly fight.

"What? Didn't quite get enough the other day?"

"Brother, I could _never_ get enough of smacking you back into place."

Garrett chuckled at the barb, twirling his staff around in his hands as Carver found his stance in the dirt, a heavy, dulled blade gripped tightly in his hands. Bethany sat in the shade of the nearby tree, halfway through one of her father's exorbitant magic tomes. Once in a while, she would lift her gaze to where her brothers readied themselves to fight, pretending not to be as interested in their contest as she was.

Carver made the first move, charging forward with all the power of an ox, bringing his blade down in attempts to land a bruising blow on his brother's shoulder, a blow that would likely send the elder Hawke sprawling on the ground.

But what Garrett lacked in sheer strength, he made up in agility and technique. He sidestepped his brother's vertical swing and whacked Carver solidly on the back with the length of his staff. The noise was whip-like and earned a cry from the youth, but he was more than used to taking such blows. He rounded on his brother again, shrugging the counter-strike off and attempting to ram the hilt of his blade into Garrett's gut as he spun.

Avoiding most of the jab by moving back, the elder Hawke shifted his grip on his staff as he turned it, extending the reach and smacking his brother in the side.

Carver swore at the blow – more at the shame of missing twice than the pain – and carried on relentlessly. For the most part, Garrett ducked and weaved out of the way of the powerhouse's swings and jabs, returning each of them with a strike of his own. What Carver could not move quick enough to block would be endured with grit teeth, knowing full well his endurance would pay off eventually.

And it did – Carver's first successful hit was a strike across his brother's chest, one that knocked the wind out of the elder Hawke and sent him stumbling back. He recovered soon enough, holding his breath to twirl his staff about in his hands and find his footing once again. Thankfully, his brother held off on being an opportunist jerk and waited for the mage to collect himself before moving in for another attack.

But that first blow had already sealed the mage's fate. His movements were just a hair slower, Garret distracted by the sting of his chest and the shortness of breath and unable to follow up with fast enough counters. That decrease in speed was just enough of an advantage for Carver.

He waited until his brother stumbled in his footwork, then stepped forward and brought the hilt of his blade into the young man's stomach in a quick jab. Garrett stumbled further, unable to defend as Carver brought the sword around, over his head and then slammed the flat end of the blade into his brother's right leg, knocking him to the floor.

He brought the sword up and around again to build momentum, turning the tip down at his grounded brother, then stabbed with a fierceness. The blade sunk harmlessly into the soft dirt beside his elder brother's head, who grinned a lopsided grin up at him. That grin generally would've made the boy suspicious, but Carver found he was too pleased for suspicion. When he spoke it was between steady gasps of breath – from both the adrenaline and excitement of a fight and the chore of swinging such a blade around for so long.

"I win."

Carver never got tired of saying that.

"Tell that to your bruises tomorrow."

"I will, don't you worry." Carver helped pull his brother back to his feet, clapping the winded man on the back fondly. "For a lightweight staff toting noodle, you fight well."

"I'm a noodle?" Garrett sounded offended, but they both knew it was in jest. "Just because I'm not built like a brick shithouse doesn't give you the right to start comparing me to pasta." Carver chuckled, even as his brother flexed his arms to demonstrate. To his credit, Garrett was in no means a scrawny man. Swinging around that staff with such force for so long had given him good muscle definition, but Carver took much pride in besting his brother at _something_.

* * *

When the two met again later in the day, Garrett had cleaned himself up, no doubt in preparation for his night off. He found Carver in their father's study, hunched over a history book and giving it a glare that – if Carver had any secret affinity for magic – would've set it on fire.

"I find History responds better to positive reinforcement. Try telling it, 'You're the best subject there is, you put Language to shame and the Maths are just jealous of your curves.'"

Carver gave his brother an unamused look.

"This is total rubbish, what do I care for history? I'm sure if I'm ever attacked I'll be able to bore my enemies to sleep with tales on a previous age." The youth snapped the book shut with finality.

"Positive reinforcement, remember? Try that again, and try to be more enthusiastic: "I'll be able to bore my enemies to sleep!'"

Carver waved him off with a hand, sighing in aggravation.

"Did you really have to read all of this?"

"And the two volumes that followed it, yes. Mother is an enthusiastic teacher. Can't say I really retained much of it though. I remember...something about a Blight?"

"Which one? There's been four."

"Yes." Garrett provided no further explanation, and Carver could only shake his head. He shoved the book aside with a grimace and turned his eyes back to the young mage who leaned against the door frame with a content grin.

"Are you heading to the pub tonight?"

"I am. Off to further sully the Hawke name with alcohol and hooliganism."

"Is father going?"

"Andrastate's butt cheeks, of course not! I said _sully_ the family name...and hooliganism. Dear father isn't always quick to jump on that bandwagon as I am."

"Maybe that's because father has sense about him."

"Never enough to stop me, though...you'd figure he would've by now. Hmm." Garrett stroked at his chin in a contemplative manner, itching at his stubble. After a few moments of quiet, he shrugged and stood upright. "Enjoy your Blights, brother."

"Wait!" Garrett hadn't moved much of anywhere when Carver jumped to his feet with an urgency. "Take me with you!"

"To the pub?" The young man was silent for a moment, right before breaking out with a devilish grin. "Am I to pop your debauchery cherry?"

"My...what?" It took Carver a moment, but eventually he sputtered and went red. "Ew, Brother, please!"

"Slip of the inappropriate tongue, you'll get over it, m'lady."

Carver went redder, this time with anger, but he would not go back on his request, aware that this was Garrett's way of trying to weasel out of the outing: make his brother so uncomfortable he refuses to leave the house. Instead, the youngest Hawke all but vaulted over the study desk to approach the young man with determination.

"Alright, off to the bandwagon we _both_ go, then," said Garrett with a sly, knowing smile. Carver ignored it and followed after him. Neither of them bothered to explain what was happening to Malcolm, who saw them both leaving and set his mouth into a hard line. Some lessons had to be taught through experience, after all.

* * *

The pub was small, as to be expected from a Lothering establishment, but it seemed big enough to shelter the drunk and foolish of the village and had enough room to spare for the two brothers to take seats side-by-side at the bar.

The barkeep, a burly, bearded man who's accent was so thick he was almost impossible to understand, greeted Garrett with a hearty roar and clapped the young man on the shoulder.

"Garrett! Hippin' tae see ye again, Lad! An who might thissun be? 'Ees a might wee fer the howf!"

Carver stared, wide-eyed at the man, understanding only fractions of what he was saying. He looked helplessly to his brother, hoping for a translations – and maybe an explanation. Lothering wasn't all that diverse a village.

"This here's Carver, Roddy, my little brother. He's here to sample the wild life."

The man howled with laughter, then leaned over the counter to clap Carver on the shoulder as he'd done Garrett a few moments earlier. The boy was caught off guard by the force of the man's blow, jerking in his chair.

"Guid fer ye, laddie! Ahll be right sure tae get ye right leuked after, then!"

"...What?"

"He's gonna make sure you have a good time," said Garrett, never without that devilish smile. Carver now wasn't so confident about this brotherly outing any more, but he was not one to back down from such a challenge, and when the man – Roddy – placed a tankard of..._something_ in front of him, he held his breath and slammed it back without so much of a pause or a word.

When he slammed the mug down in front of him, Garrett's grin was nearly ear to ear. Carver was deafened by the man's howl as he took his mug and refilled it.

Carver looked down at the alcohol with a sudden pause.

Right, he was expected to drink more than just one mug.

"Pace yourself, brother," Garrett warned, something in his tone sounding oddly pleased as he took a generous gulp of his own drink. "Trust me when I tell you this isn't a race. You won't _want_ to make it a race this time around."

Carver felt a little egged on by the way Garrett swished his drink around in the mug before downing it in a matter of seconds, despite how the young man insisted this wasn't a competition. Roddy set them up with back-up drinks and went to see to another patron, while Carver seized the distraction to quiz the elder Hawke.

"What in the devil is he saying?"

"Not too sure," said Garrett, drinking from his mug with practised comfort, "I've really only worked out 75% of what he says in a given night. Good guy, though. Right from the heart of Starkhaven, that one."

Carver watched his brother drink for a moment, before aiming to match his pace with a determined set of his mouth.

* * *

It wasn't long before he felt the a peculiar buzz in his arms, as if they were falling asleep. Initially, the feeling was unpleasant. He asked his brother about it.

"It's a sign, brother," a pause, "you're possessed."

Garrett, who'd moved on from the mugs of murky liquid to clear stuff in tiny glasses, found his humour infinitely funnier than anyone else around. He laughed and laughed and laughed while Carver grumbled sourly into his drink.

Roddy was suddenly across from him with a knowing grin.

"Right gallus bastard, yer brother, mair so when ee's stotious."

Carver found his manners abandoned him entirely when he spoke.

"I'm sorry, what are you saying?"

Roddy howled like he'd told a good joke, which sent Garrett off into a fit of more violent laughter. Carver looked from one to the other, then shoved his mug aside.

"Can I get whatever it is he's drinking?"

"Oh? Feelin' brave, are ye laddie?"

Carver didn't know what to say, so he settled for nodding. As Roddy set a drink of whatever-it-was down in front of him, he eyed it suspiciously.

"It won't kill you," said Garrett, who now leaned in close to his little brother, having forgotten the boundaries of personal space entirely. "Maybe. If it does, you'll tell father it wasn't me, right?"

"Of course." Carver lifted the glass, surprised when Garrett's hand came down on his wrist to stop him.

"Drink it quick," he said, "don't breathe, take it all in one go."

Nodding, the boy slammed back the glass, feeling the liquid burn down his throat, more so when he let a breath out through his nose. He gagged, scraping his tongue against his teeth to try and remove the flavour. Unable to help it, he began to cough. His brother patted his back, grinning wildly as the boy cleared his throat.

"Another?" Garrett asked.

Carver nodded, only because he decided he didn't like the taunt in his brother's voice.

* * *

A couple more of those glasses and Carver was feeling the definite effects of the stuff. He felt dizzy, his face flush with heat and the tingle in his arms had moved into the back of his head and became a pleasant buzz.

"I don't understand," he said, nudging his elder brother, who was talking quietly to a girl on the chair beside him. The young man turned back to the youth, raising an eyebrow. "What...what is the purpose of..." he gestured to himself vaguely. "...of this?"

Garrett looked the boy up and down, seemed to consider his words and said:

"Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much -" He was stopped by a half-hearted shove that nearly toppled them both from their chairs.

"I mean it! Why do people do...this? Drink?"

The man shrugged.

"To lose their inhibitions quickly and easily. It's easier to talk to people when you've got no boundaries, but whether or not they talk smart depends on the person."

"Talk smart?" echoed Carver, enthralled. He nodded to Roddy as another mug of ale was pushed in his direction. "Like what?"

"I'll show you," said Garrett with a grin, jerking his head in the direction of his female friend, who looked expectantly to the boys as if she was offended at being excluded from their conversation. The man finished what was left in his own mug and spun in his chair, leaning back against the counter and turning his attention back to the young woman.

Really, she couldn't have been much older than Carver, her big green eyes were innocent, blonde hair framing a round face. She had generous curves – Carver had been quick to notice them – and a sweet smile that reached her eyes every time. She too had been sipping away at a drink, arriving shortly after the boys, but hadn't had nearly the same amount Garrett had. Even so, Garrett seemed to hold himself well, appearing only a little tipsy if anything.

Carver watched, only half paying attention to his brother's words and more to the way the girl lips moved when she responded. He felt a warmth in his chest when she looked to him and smiled, catching his stare. He averted his gaze, directing it into his drink until he was sure the girl had returned her attention to his elder brother.

Garrett nodded to Roddy, who placed another of the little drinks on the table. The young man slid it towards the object of his attention and offered a very charming smile.

"Give it a try," he said, sounding lighthearted and friendly. "Then at least you can say you did. I promise, whatever happens will stay between us." The young man lowered his voice, leaning close and keeping his expression bright. The younger Hawke watched as the girl's face reddened. She nodded, took the drink in both hands and swallowed it all in one breath, reacting much the same way Carver did his first shot. She sputtered and coughed, trying to laugh along with Garrett as he rubbed his hand over her back.

They talked for a little while longer, and during this time Carver watched the girl get bolder. He noticed the way she would reach out to touch his brother, smoothing the shirt on his chest or placing her hand over his with an innocent laugh. He responded with small advances much like her own, making her believe she was the one in control. But on the outside looking in, the youth could see his brother quietly directing the girl to do as he wished, patient and charming all the while.

In what seemed like no time at all, the girl leaned close to his brother and whispered something to him Carver couldn't make out. The man nodded and winked to his brother before being pulled off his stool. The girl headed out the side door with Garrett in tow, leaving Carver to sit stunned at the display at the bar. Roddy laughed again.

"Dinnae sae yer brither was a gallus lad?"

Carver nodded dumbly, realizing then that his jaw was hanging open. He shut it with a click, then noticing a tall man crossing the room at a rapid pace. Even from a distance, Carver could see the man was angry. There was a terrific scowl on his face and he seemed to radiate an aura of rage. He pushed his way past other patrons, shoving his way through the door his brother and the girl had exited through minutes before.

The fighter in Carver sensed trouble. He jumped off his stool and went to follow, stumbling a moment when his feet refused to respond as well as he was used to. When he gathered together what shreds of balance he could find, he wobbled out after the lot of them. Thankfully, he found that after a few seconds of walking drunk it became easier. He floated from solid object to solid object until throwing himself at the door and stumbling out into the dark alleyway beside the bar.

"What the hell were you doing to my girl?"

Carver turned in the direction of the yelling, narrowing his eyes at the man (whether to focus or to express discontent, he wasn't sure) and approaching slowly.

Garrett had his hands up in surrender, being pressed back into the wall by a hold on his shoulder. Despite the ordinarily scary situation, the eldest Hawke was smiling.

The tall man, however, did not find this amusing. He had one fist pulled back while the other hand held Hawke to the wall.

"I asked you a question! This isn't funny!"

"I was just getting to know her," he said smoothly, sounding to all the world sincere. "You know, in a friendly, less-than-platonic way."

"You had your dirty mouth on her _face"_

"Dunno if you were aware, friend, it's called a kiss."

The tall man slammed Garrett against the wall, who barely reacted save for a slight cringe.

"William! Will, stop! I did this, I invited him out! Me! This is my fault!" The woman called to her lover, reaching out, but not to touch him. She stood off to a side, a look of fear on that youthful face.

"Don't _lie_ for this scum, Bea! He's not worth it."

"It's not a lie!"

"It's a lie." It was Garrett who spoke then, smiling lazily up at the tall man, unflinching as 'William' turned an angry stare on the Hawke. "Tried to force myself on her, but she wasn't having it." William drew a sharp breath between his teeth, pulling his fist back further as his face lit up with rage. "Sweet girl, trying to protect me, I was hoping she'd be easy, too."

As the tall man went to swing, Carver moved, stepping behind him to catch William's wrist before he could throw his punch. He spun, looking down to the boy with surprise.

"Who...what do you want?!"

"Could you..." Carver was surprised at how hard it was to form coherent words. "Could you not punch my brother? His...his face is nice. It's...all he has...for...for skills...the idiot." If Carver had a better grasp on the situation and could see beyond the enraged face of the tall man, he would see his brother grinning ear to ear.

"You little shit, I'll pummel you both!" William turned, raising his fist again, completely caught off guard for when Carver suddenly swung. The man was hit solidly across the jaw, the force of the youth's punch rattling his brain and sending him spinning into the elder Hawke's arms. The boy stumbled with the momentum of his swing, almost toppling on top of the man he'd struck. When the younger Hawke did finally lose his balance, Garrett shoved William to the floor in order to catch Carver before he bounced off the wall or clattered to the ground.

"Sorry, Beatrice, didn't mean for all this to happen," said Garrett as he slung his brother's arm around his shoulder. The girl dropped to her companion's side, shaking her head. William was down for the count, knocked out cold by the solid punch of the youngest Hawke brother.

"This is my fault...I should've known...I'm sorry, so sorry. Oh, Will." The girl leaned over the man, trying to shake him back into wakefulness.

Together, the Hawke brothers staggered back towards the door, Garrett much more sure on his feet than Carver.

"Why'd you...you say you forced yourself on her? Seemed like _she_ invited _you _out...that..._bitch,"_ Carver hissed like a scorning old lady.

"She did, but he didn't need to know that. Easier this way."

"Always gotta be the hero, don'tcha?"

"Me? You're my knight in shining armour tonight, little brother. You pack quite the punch." Carver beamed at the compliment, even giggling, though surprising himself when it happened. When was the last time he'd giggled? "Right, champ, let's get you home."

Carver suddenly pushed away from his brother.

"Nuh-uh. I'm not done yet. You...owe me! Lots! We're done when I _say_ we're done."

Garrett looked to his brother with an eyebrow raised for the second time that night. When the boy stubbornly began to march back inside, the elder Hawke simply shook his head and grinned.

"As you say, baby brother."

* * *

Malcolm Hawke was still awake when his sons came home that morning. He wasn't waiting up for them by any stretch, but he'd simply been restless. He'd been reading in his chair when he heard the door open, rising to greet the dynamic duo. He was surprised, amused and a little endeared at what he saw – after a momentary feeling of worry.

Carver was out like a light, a blush on his face that would probably remain for hours. He was sprawled over his elder brother's back, who looked quite worn out, no doubt from carrying the heavier boy back as far as he had. After taking in the sight, Malcolm went to help his eldest with the weight, who shook his head and insisted he was fine. Regardless, he followed Garrett up the stairs, hanging by the door as the young man kicked his way into his brother's room and discarded his body on the bed. He arched his back until it cracked, sighing at the feeling, then rolled Carver onto his side.

Of course, the boy didn't stir at all through any of this rough handling.

"How much did he drink?" Malcolm asked, unsure if he truly wanted to know. Garrett stumbled his way out into the hall to speak with his father, leaning against the wall to stop himself falling over.

"Probably...much more than he should have...tomorrow should be fun."

"And how are you?"

Garrett grinned and gave a lazy salute.

"Right as inebriated rain. I'll be fine in a few hours. Kid's gonna be a wreck, though."

"I'll let you wake him up, then."

Garrett chuckled, nodded, then walked as steadily as he could to his own room to go sleep the drink away.

* * *

It was far, far too early when Garrett pulled open the curtains and chirped loudly in his ear.

"Wake up, sunshine!"

Carver groaned, his brain pounding a vigorous rhythm into his skull. With difficulty, he reached for his pillow and pressed it over his head, curling into a ball. He felt like vomiting, but had no urge to get up and do so.

How his brother was so cheery when the sun was so bright completely baffled the boy. A happy-hearted Garrett jumped onto the foot of Carver's bed, making the poor youth bounce in place, doing nothing to help his nausea.

"What...Where...How did I get here? What happened?" Carver peeked out from under his pillow to the happy grin of his brother, which seemed as bright as the outside world did.

"Well, you passed out. Drink does that to you," said Garrett, "I carried you home, discarded you here and now it's time to awaken and be merry!"

"What...how are you not...why are you so happy?"

The young man smiled knowingly. Carver was getting really sick of seeing that expression.

"I know how to hold my liquor, and I know how to drink. I told you, you don't want to try and make your first time a competition."

"I didn't! ...Did I?"

"Well, I don't quite know what you were trying to do, but it involved a lot of drink. And you danced."

"Danced?"

"Quite well, surprisingly. I think you've a talent for it. Check your smalls, some ladies might have tipped you a few silver."

Carver groaned and pulled the pillow back over his head.

"I'm not kidding. You were jingling."

Garrett nudged his brother's foot, who responded by suddenly bolting upright. Carver reached instinctively for the bucket Garrett was holding out to him and promptly unloaded the contents of his stomach. He heaved several times, refusing to lift his head until he coughed up nothing but spittle. He began to doze off again, and he probably would've had Garrett not gently pulled the bucket away from him and forced him to wake with another nudge.

His brother threw him a cloth, which he used to drowsily wipe his face. He held the towel in both hands and leaned his face into them, not moving for quite some time.

"Don't doze off yet," Garrett chided, "drink this."

Carver looked up, relieved to see a glass of water in his line of vision. The taste in his mouth was foul and his throat was dry. He would've gulped it all down had his brother not been holding firmly to it when he reached for the cup.

"Small sips," the elder Hawke instructed, "if you drink it too fast you'll spew it all over the place again, and I'm not cleaning it up."

Carver would've been willing to do back flips for the water if asked, eagerly nodding so long as it meant he could have his drink. He did as he was told, taking small, controlled sips under the watchful stare of his elder brother. It took some time, but eventually he'd drained the glass and held it up to his brother.

"More?"

"I'll fill it, but see if you can't get more sleep."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Carver sank back into his mattress. True enough, he was asleep before Garrett had even left the room. As he carried the smelly bucket out with him, he nearly walked right into Bethany, who was hovering outside her twin's room.

"He okay?" she asked, peering into Carver's room curiously. She could see his still form in bed, unmoving and quiet.

"He's good and hung over, but otherwise okay," said the elder Hawke, wrinkling his nose and holding the bucket away from him. Bethany grimaced at the smell.

"It's good of you to look after him like this. I knew you were a nice guy," she teased.

"Of course! I messed him up, seems only fitting I get him back on his feet." Beth blinked, turning her gaze on Garrett with suspicion. He was not one to simply _accept_ backhanded compliments like the one she'd given. Her suspicion was quelled when he grinned and bent to her height. "In a little while, I'm gonna go back in there with pots and pans, wanna come?"

* * *

**Yaaaaay Debauchery Cherries!**

**Still no more talkative reviewers, though a giant thank you to all three of you who have reviewed so far! I do appreciate it, every review I get makes me smile like a dork :D**

**So more growing-up/family life between heavy bits, as I said. Please let me know what your thoughts are, I promise I don't bite!**

**Pleasepleasepleaseplease hit the review button and pound out any few words your little hearts desire, I promise to read them as if they were typed by angels. Because you are all wonderful. Marry me?**

**Please?**

**Thanks for reading this far!**

**Toodles~**

**Shmee**


	6. Failing

When news reached the Hawkes that Abigail had her pups, Bethany could hardly wait to see them. She asked the Porters for updates just about every time she saw them in town, asking questions and pressing for answers. When the time came and the pups were old enough and healthy enough for outside contact, the middle Hawke was among the first to know. Regrettably, her brothers didn't share her love for cute, huggable things like puppies. She'd asked Carver to come with her to meet the newborns, but he'd shrugged off her request and excused himself to go train with another Lothering boy he often sparred with. When she'd turned to Garrett, he'd offered her little more than a laugh, then told her he'd happily accompany her – if she could find him.

Garrett then left to stash himself away somewhere inconspicuous, and try as she might, Bethany could not draw her elder brother out of hiding. When she went to ask if her parents might come with her, she met similar results. Father was feeling too ill to accompany her today, though he asked his daughter to give the pups a good wrestle for him. Mother said that while she wanted to see the Mabari puppies, she felt compelled to stay behind and watch after her husband – something Bethany wouldn't dream of arguing. So, entirely alone but not at all as crestfallen as she'd thought she would be, the middle Hawke set her destination to the out-lying farm that housed the newcomers.

She crossed the village with a spring in her light step, taking a shortcut through the fields and sliding down the hills with laughter. The Porter family had been expecting her arrival and were close to the door when she knocked. They greeted her with big, excited smiles and invited her out to the barn where the new mother nursed her pups. Even before Bethany was allowed inside, she could hear the little squeaks and yips that announced the presence of puppies.

The barn was cozy and warm and smelled of fresh hay, the sensations bringing back a time before Lothering, where the Hawkes had taken refuge in a barn not unlike this one. But this one was different – this one had puppies.

The pups were stashed in a corner with their mother, a tired looking Mabari whose tail wagged pathetically at the sight of her owners and a visitor. Her tongue lolled out from her mouth and she panted, giving a happy bark as the humans approached.

"The birthing was a bit of a wreck," said Mr. Porter, "so Abby's been a little worn out since. But she's a tough old dog, she'll pull through in time."

"Are the puppies okay?"

Bethany didn't need to ask. As soon as the pups realized she was there, they swarmed at her feet, jumping for the laces of her boots and attempting to clamber up her long legs. She laughed and crouched down to meet them, being knocked back onto her rear as the puppies jumped for her face, lathering her with sloppy kisses.

She giggled and wrestled with the little things, mindful not to hurt them as their mother watched dutifully a few paces away.

"The pups are just fine, dear girl."

Bethany poked, prodded, wrestled and rubbed each puppy as they sought her attention. She would biff aside one with one hand, while tickling the belly of another. There were four of them in total, each obviously harbouring his or her own personality that shone through even in the brief time Beth was with them.

The youngest pup, the Porters had named Malin, was shy. He lagged behind his brothers and sisters as they rushed to wrestle and play. When prompted, however, he was quite loving, showering Bethany's hands in kisses and exposing his belly for pets.

Laurea and Samuel were equally as playful, the middle pups frequently broke away from their siblings to wrestle with one another, and were more eager to nip at Bethany's gentle hands than to lick them. The only time they would break up their scuffle was to unite against a greater foe – their eldest brother, who threw himself into their feuds with excitement.

Atticus was easily Bethany's favourite, for he reminded her of both her brothers. He was eager to prove himself in his tussles with his siblings and strut proudly about their pen when he was the victor – emanating Carver. But when lavished with Bethany's attention, he became a big suck, rolling around under her hands and licking at her fingers, not bothering with petty play fights when there was someone there to scratch the itch, much like her easygoing elder brother.

Even to the pups themselves, it was clear that there was a preference. The other pups wandered off to do their own thing, be it tussle with one another or snuggle their mother, while Bethany lavished Atticus with attention, who enjoyed every second of it. He nipped playfully at her fingers – never too rough – and melted appreciatively when she petted him or scratched at his ears. It wasn't long before Mr. Porter interrupted the two with happy news.

"You know," he began, "these pups need homes."

He didn't have to say any more. Bethany had already spoken with her parents on adopting one of the puppies. They told her so long as it was cared for, it would have a home with them. That was all the middle child needed. Truthfully, Bethany had come today to see if any of these Mabari pups clicked with her, and obviously one had.

She turned up her hands to Atticus, who seemed to understand and threw his weight into them. She lifted him off the ground and enveloped him in a hug. She nuzzled the dog's fur and giggled through the kisses she received. For a girl of sixteen, she certainly had a childish side – one that showed in the presence of these puppies – of _this_ puppy.

Bethany stood, cradling the pup in her arms, and beamed at the man who waited expectantly, returning her smile with one of his own.

Bringing the pup home had certainly been an exciting event. Her mother had expected no less and hovered by the door waiting for her little girl. Carver had returned, heard the likelihood of a newcomer to the family and hung around curiously. He waited in the sitting room with Garrett, who had come out of hiding for such an occasion and fiddled with a piece of string to pass the time.

When Bethany came through the door with a bundle in her arms, her mother had been first to greet her. They cooed and gushed in the foyer, causing the brothers to exchange a weary look. They were completely unprepared for when a little ball of fur came bounding into the room, tongue hanging out and a stump of a tail wagging so much the pup's rear legs flailed for footing.

The pup leaped onto Carver's lap, barked, then jumped off, circling the chair in excitement before doing the same to Garrett who – reclining on the couch as he had – was not expecting a gut full of puppy so suddenly and wheezed at the impact.

"Active, isn't he?" the eldest observed, sitting upright lest he be winded again.

Bethany settled on the floor and the pup bounded into her open arms.

"His name is Atticus," said the girl, massaging her nails into the pup's skull. "And he's ours, unless either of you have suddenly developed allergies."

Garrett feigned a sneeze, earning a nasty look from his sister.

"I think having a Mabari around is a good idea," said Carver, sliding off the chair to sit on the floor. As he'd intended, he attracted the attention of the puppy, who came bounding over to him excitedly. He caught the pup in his hands and wrestled it into the ground. The pup yipped, causing Carver to let up, only to jump at the boy again. The youth carried on wrestling with the pup, rolling it gently this way and that as he spoke. "A lot of Ferelden nobles have Mabari as guards. We might actually look formidable with the little guy at our sides."

"He won't be little for long," said Leandra, who settled into the chair Carver had abandoned, "Mabari males get big, quickly."

"Good thing we have a lot of space outside, then,"

Atticus was gnawing stubbornly on the boy's knuckles, who took no notice of the playful attack. Carver's attention was on his father, who'd surprised his family with his sudden appearance. Garrett looked over the back of the loveseat to where his father shuffled through the door.

"You sure you're okay to be up, pa?"

Malcolm whacked his eldest upside the head, the boy chuckling dryly when he was struck.

"If I'm well enough to give you a smack, I'm well enough to be up. Remember that."

"Yessir." Garrett turned away, aware Malcolm meant so much more by that hit – by those words.

_Don't worry your siblings._

Malcolm broke out into a smile, eager to put the subject of his illness behind them and focus on the new life in the room. He crouched down and whistled to the pup. Atticus lifted his head at the noise and bounded towards the man who'd made it.

"Lively," the man observed, lifting the pup off the floor and holding it in front of him. The cub squirmed and jerked its head forward, his tongue darting out into the open air – stubbornly attempting to lick the face that was too far away for his kisses. "You picked a fine pup, Bethany."

"So, question," interjected Garrett as his father set the pup on the floor, "who's gonna be out with this thing in the night when it's got to piss?"

"Me, of course," Bethany spoke as if the answer was a given, snuggling Atticus as he bounded back into her arms at the sound of her voice. "He'll stay with me for now and I'll make sure he gets taken out when he needs it."

Garrett nodded and reclined back on the loveseat, folding his arms behind his head and propping his feet up on the armrest as his siblings blew a ball of fluff back and fourth between them, distracting the pup with the activity of chasing it.

Without warning, Atticus broke away from the twins and bounded for the loveseat, leaping onto the young man's stomach when he was least expecting it. Garrett curled in and grunted as the air left him, face-to-face with the slobbering pup on his chest.

He went to speak, only to clamp his mouth shut when the puppy crawled closer to lick at the mage's face. The pup lavished the eldest Hawke with kisses, no doubt intrigued by the texture of Garrett's scruff on his tongue. Garrett, however, was not as enthralled, trying to turn his head away and lightly nudge the pup off. Atticus would have none of it, continuing to assault the man's face as he chuckled and squirmed.

"He likes you, brother," said Bethany.

"Or just thinks you'll make a good snack," huffed Carver.

"That's- bleh. That's- hey!" Garrett couldn't seem to get a word in edgewise without the pup's tongue in his face, losing his patience and pushing the dog away by the snout. "That's fantastic. I've always wanted someone to slobber all over me, I find drool does _wonders_ for the skin." The young man sat up, Atticus tumbling off his chest and into his lap. Understanding that he'd been dismissed, the pup jumped back to the floor to play with the twins.

Garrett rose from the chair, wiped at his face with the back of his arm and spoke again.

"Right well, I'm in need of a wash. Enjoy puppy sitting, Bethany."

His sister wasn't really paying attention to him anymore, to amused by the bundle of life rolling around on their carpet.

Garrett shrugged, yawned and took his leave from the room. He passed through the kitchen, pausing to take in the scene that stunned him to stillness. Malcolm was bent over the sink, his face pale and his shoulders sagging as he heaved. The sound of his vomiting was muffled by the playful giggles and barking in the next room. Leandra was at his side, stroking his back and holding one of his hands in hers, whispering comforting things to him as he heaved again.

The young man stood still, his face an unreadable mask as he watched his father spew blood into the sink.

Without a word, he turned and climbed the steps, his composure breaking as he reached the shadows of the upper landing.

Sometime in the early morning, Garrett awoke to whimpering.

Initially, the man was so very lost as to what could be producing such whines at this hour until remembering the newest addition to their merry troupe. Still groggy with sleep, the eldest Hawke rolled out of bed and stumbled into the hall, rubbing at his eyes with a yawn.

He approached Bethany's door, where he could hear the little pup whining and scratching on the other side. As if in a trance, the man opened the door, scooped up the dog that came racing out into the hall and padded down the steps.

He walked barefoot out into the yard and set the dog down. It sniffed around curiously, wandering carefully out into the grass. Garrett watched for a few moments, squinting at the beginning of dawn's light and sighing. He turned back towards the house, shut the back door and seated himself on the stoop before it, watching as the pup pranced around in the yard.

As Garrett began to actually wake from his trance, he was hit with a wave of emotional pain. The memory of his father over the sink was fresh in his mind, each bark from the puppy in the yard driving the memory in like a stake. He shut his eyes and leaned forward, holding his forehead in his hand.

He could feel his throat constricting, drawing tighter as Garrett bit back tears. He shivered in the early morning light, though not from the cold. Just before he crumbled, he was startled by a loud bark – the puppy now sitting at his feet and panting up at him expectantly.

"What?"

Atticus barked again, raising his rump in the air and wagging his stubby tail with a fervour. When Garrett didn't respond, the pup barked more.

"Shush! You'll wake the whole house, you twit." Garrett's insult was half-hearted, one hand waving the puppy off, expecting it to go do dog-things now that it had been dismissed.

The puppy tilted his head to one side, spun in a circle and kept making noise.

Unsure what else to do, Garrett pushed the puppy over with his foot.

Atticus rolled around in the dirt for a moment, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"You're an odd one," said the man, propping his chin in his hand as he leaned over the dog. Atticus jumped back to his paws and wagged his tail enthusiastically. So, Garrett pushed him over again.

The puppy seemed to think this was great fun, bouncing back to his feet. Garrett couldn't help the smile that crept up on him when he knocked the pup over a third time. At least the tightness in his throat was gone, the puppy's barks now inducing chuckles, not a painful memory. Encouraged by the pup's infectious playfulness, Garrett picked up a nearby stick and gave it a good toss. Atticus bounded after it, but instead of instantly returning it, the pup plopped down in the dirt to chew on it.

The man waited for a few minutes before calling to the pup, who eagerly ran to him – but left the stick behind.

"No, no. Bring it with you!" The pup looked up at him expectantly and barked. "Right." Garrett stood up, going to retrieve the stick himself and returning to his perch on the stoop. He held the stick above the pup's nose, pulling it out of reach every time Atticus jumped for it. Only when the dog backed away did Garrett launch it into the field, laughing as Atticus charged into the grass after it.

This time when Garrett called, Atticus dragged the stick back with him halfway, dropped it, then bounded up to the man with his tail wagging.

The pair carried on like that until the sun began to peek out over the horizon, and so involved was the man in his game that he almost didn't hear Bethany opening the back door behind him.

"Well, and here I thought you didn't much care for a dog," she said, sitting on the stoop beside him. Atticus had finally grasped that bringing the stick back meant it would be thrown again sooner. Garrett had just loosed the branch when Bethany spoke.

"I never said that, I just wasn't so eager to have my face eaten by something the size of a bunny."

"Oh please," said the youth as Atticus dropped the stick at their feet. She patted him on the head, picked up the branch and threw it out into the field. He scampered after it. "He's hardly bound to eat your face."

"Perhaps not now. Wait until he's big enough to throw a saddle over and take to the races."

Bethany gave her elder brother a playful shove, smiling at Atticus as he came bounding back. Her smile tamed from something joyous to a peaceable expression, her face warmed by the rising sun before them.

"Do you suppose father is getting better, then?"

Garrett's insides seized, but he smiled at his sister as if nothing was amiss.

"Who knows."

"That was the first time I've seen him out of bed in a week. It must be a good sign. Maybe Atticus is a blessing in disguise." The teen patted the dog on the head, then threw the stick for him again, looking to her brother for a proper reaction.

Were it Carver in that same position, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything. But Bethany was not Carver. Bethany was more in tune with both her brothers, more adept at reading their specific ticks and tells. Garrett was no exception, and it only took the middle Hawke a few seconds to realize her brother's smile was stiff, as if frozen on his face. The look in his eyes was cold and distant, despite his relaxed posture.

"Hey," she said, placing a warm hand on his arm. "Is...everything okay?"

He sighed, and that smile gradually became genuine – but Bethany was not fooled, he was only solidifying his defences.

"Just worried for him, is all. I don't want him trying to over exert himself too soon."

The younger Hawke knew something wasn't being said here, but she also knew that unlike Carver, Garrett would tell her if she needed to know – or when he was ready to share. Carver would keep it to himself until it hurt, or did harm to those around him. She didn't press, instead offering her support by lacing her arm around her brother's and leaning on his shoulder.

"He'll pull through," she said softly, "he's a Hawke. He's _the_ Hawke."

Garrett said nothing in response, but thanked his sister for her words and her actions by resting his chin on the top of her head and breathing out a long sigh. They sat like that to watch the sun rise together, Atticus settling in beside them when chewing on the stick had become boring, pressing into Garrett's side like he belonged there.

* * *

**Please review. I live for them.**

**Thanks for reading this far**

**Toodles**

**Shmee**


	7. Gone

There was a heavy silence in the air that followed the services. As locals funnelled out of the graveyard without a word, the Hawkes remained, staring down at their own with a colourful palette of emotions.

Bethany was a wreck. The young woman buried her face in her hands, desperately wiping away tears that just wouldn't stop falling. She sobbed quietly, afraid to make much noise and disturb her family, to draw attention to herself when this day _was not_ about her suffering alone. She shook in the sun, unable to draw warmth from the light and feeling that it was a cruel glow, terribly unsuited to the mood of the day.

Despite all her struggles to go unnoticed, she found herself drawn into a hug that _did_ provide her with the warmth she was missing. Her elder brother's arms wrapped around her and held tight, and she took only a moment to study the man's face, to see those normally bright eyes darkened and that mouth set into a joyless frown. He offered her a weak smile, but it did nothing to lift her spirits, so she selfishly took comfort in her brother's embrace, sobbing quietly into the fabric of his shirt.

Nearby, Carver looked on with a scowl in his face, the expression warring with a look of sorrow that reflected his twin's. He was angry at just about everything, unable to stop the hateful feeling and despising himself for it. He was angry at his father, angry at his mother, at his brother and at the sobbing of his sister.

His mother had no right to be smiling, no matter how sad the smile may have been. She brushed the headstone lightly with her fingers, whispering intimate words that the children couldn't understand, were never meant to understand. She pressed her fingers to her lips, then back to the stone. With a shaky breath, she drew herself together for the sake of her children and headed for the gates.

_It's easier for her,_ seethed Carver, _she's lived a life without him before._

His anger for his sister was unnecessarily cruel, finding her sobs annoying and selfish. She was only crying like that to draw attention to herself, to draw comfort from someone while he suffered alone, in silence. She got her wish when Garrett caved to her crying, and the sounds became muffled by their brother's torso as she hushed herself with his presence. Before long, only her shoulders twitched with the force of her sobs, while no sound was made beyond the occasional sniffing.

His brother..._his brother_. He stood there, without a smile, without a frown, without...anything! He simply looked onto the grave and showed _nothing_. Carver wanted to strike him, to draw some sort of reaction out of the man, something other than that blank look. He should be sad...angry..._something._

He shouldn't be blissfully unaffected while Carver shook with his own, uncontrollable emotions. He wanted to cry, he want to shout, he wanted to overturn something breakable and curse his father for leaving them. It was still too soon. Carver and Bethany were still young, Garrett barely a man. They weren't ready to be alone, yet Malcolm saw fit to leave them anyway.

Biting back tears and hissing angry things under his breath, Carver stormed away, pushing past his mother who waited at the gate and going wherever his feet saw fit to take him. So long as it wasn't home, and wasn't here, he didn't care where he went.

He heard Bethany behind him, trying to catch up to her twin, having torn herself away from their brother to follow. He knew he would only be able to ignore her for so long, especially considering though she walked on his heels and said nothing, her presence was so _heavy_, he couldn't just pretend she wasn't there.

He walked with her in his shadow for what felt like hours, until he could take it no longer and he whirled on her.

"Why are you following me?!"

She flinched at the anger in his tone, her lower lip trembling and her eyes flooding with tears. At the sight of her sorrow, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back, pinning her against the wall.

"Stop crying!" He demanded, though he could feel his throat tighten. "You can't cry! He doesn't deserve it! He left us!" Bethany reached forward as best she could with her shoulders pinned, grabbing at his shirt with her hands and trying to pull him close. He hit her against the wall again, nothing more than a scare tactic for the shove wasn't strong enough to cause harm.

But still she cried, and once she'd regained her courage, she reached for him again.

"You can't cry," he repeated, though tears were beginning to spill out from his own eyes. "We gotta be stronger than that..._He _isn't crying. _He_ gets it!" A sob shook him, and he released his sister, who flew forward and wrapped her arms around him. "We can't cry," he said again, only partially aware that he was clinging to his older sister desperately. The twins sank down together, "We can't...he left us...he doesn't...he doesn't..." His protests bubbled down into nothing and he drew his sister in his arms, holding tightly to her in case she might escape him, too.

Garrett left the graveyard for only a short time, and when he returned, he carried a bundle with him. His mother had already gone home, leaving her children to deal with their demons in whatever way they had to. Carver had vanished hours ago, Bethany with him. Now, it was only Garrett.

Garrett and good old dad.

The man sat himself down on the dirt, leaning against the side of the headstone. Clouds were beginning to blow over the setting sun, greying the slowly darkening world. But there would still be light for a few more hours.

Enough light to celebrate.

Garrett put the bundle in his lap and slowly unravelled the pale blanket that sheltered a bottle of well aged Orlesian wine. He popped the cork off through the use of a blade and his teeth and took a long swig.

When he lowered the bottle, his head rolled back against the tombstone.

"This isn't fair, you know," he said aloud. "I'm still not done being immature."

He took another swig from the bottle, then drew his arm across his lips to wipe away the dribbles of alcohol that remained. The stubble on his face scratched roughly against his arm, and Garrett found the pain didn't bother him.

"You get to frolic with the Maker and I'm stuck down here, the 'Man of the Family.' You know Carver's never gonna go for that."

He laughed as if he'd received an answer, then sat in silence for a long while. When he began to feel a tingle in his arms and a rush of heat to his face, he took another drink.

"Picked a hell of a time to go, too. You were nothing if not punctual."

Garrett remembered all of the times he received the brunt of Malcolm's temper. All the time he stood in the study while his father listed, loudly, all the things he'd done wrong, everything that could've gone wrong. Even the few times he didn't yell in those situations weren't much better, because then Garrett only went away to punish himself, berating himself mentally for hours until he practically talked himself unconscious, where he continued subconsciously in his dreams.

But he'd still been a good man. The times he raised his voice was in defence of his children, whether from others or from themselves. He cared, a lot, willing to uproot his life countless times over to keep his children safe and free. Thanks to his father, Garrett didn't know the life of a circle mage, though the rumours he heard were generally unpleasant.

With another drink, Garrett thought back on his father's teachings, the many lessons the man had given his son and daughter so they would know themselves, know their strengths. The amount of times Garrett had heard the both of them called talented by friend and foe alike were limitless. His parents got all the credit for that, his mother for bearing such gifted children, his father for training them.

The world was swaying, but that didn't stop the man from lifting the bottle again.

"So whaddo I do now, pa?" Garrett asked, swallowing a hiccup. "How does one 'Be the man' of a Hawke family?" He raised the bottle to the sky, spotting a bird. "Do I preen my feathers and catch rats for the hatchlings?"

Another drink.

"We're not really hatchlings anymore, pa. Carver hears that and he'll go off in a rage, again. He's real good at that. ...We should've made him compete. He would've been the angriest angry-fellow to ever be angry in Thedas. He's angry now, y'know. At everything."

Another.

"Where's his prize?" Garrett mumbled, twirling the bottle around in his hands and listening to the sound of the alcohol splashing within.

"Beth is gonna be a catch, pa, what 'm I supposed to do when suitors come 'round?"

He tilted his head back and let it rest there again the tombstone, the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

"D'you think I should be protectin' her?" He chuckled to the sky, "maybe we kin dress Carver up. They're twins, no one'd notice the switch until t'was too late." His chuckles continued until Garrett found the will to lift the bottle, now hoping to drown the feeling of nausea with more wine. "Bet she'd draw in a good one, she would." He gave a dry laugh. "The best, I'm sure, like a prince! And she'd be queen, the prettiest Hawke-queen there ever was, but we'll tell mum _she's _the fairest, of course."

He took another long drink, aware that the bottle was much lighter now than it was when he'd began.

"He'd take good care of her, pa, or he'd answer to me. I can be scary when I want to. ..oh...and...Carver, him too."

Garrett sat still for a while, feeling the ground moving below him and the uncomfortable churning of his stomach. He grimaced, then emptied the bottle completely, squeezing his eyes shut, then let the thing roll out of his hands. Something in the back of his mind told him he shouldn't have finished that whole thing, and certainly not as quick as he did.

But he was beyond caring.

"What do I do, pa? How do I...do I...did you?" He paused, straightening out his thoughts as though he actually had someone paying attention, then spoke again. "How did you do it? You could barely keep me in line, how 'm I gonna watch myself?"

He stared at the sky, waiting for an answer. When he didn't get one, he narrowed his eyes and cursed. Slowly, he slid sideways off the tombstone and sprawled across his father's grave on his back. He smiled pleasantly at the clouds.

"S'good to have you here with me, on this special day, pa." The man folded his hands over his stomach and shut his eyes.

"Happy birthday to me," he sang softly, "Happy birthday to me."

Garrett shut his eyes tightly, feeling tears for the first time in years.

"Happy birthday, dear Garrett," the last few notes of his song where not more than a whisper,

"happy birthday to me..."

* * *

A strong hand shook him awake, miraculously, and when Garrett opened his eyes, the world was moving. It was dark, too, but the eldest Hawke wasn't sure if that was because the sun had set or if it was an unpleasant side effect of the alcohol.

"Oh that's a good feeling," he said, stumbling to his feet and away from his father's grave before vomiting into the roots of a tree. "I love this. Let's do it again."

It took a minute, but eventually he hunched over and did exactly as he'd said.

Content he wouldn't give a repeat performance and holding his tongue just in case, Garrett stumbled away from the vomit-tree and tripped over another headstone, tumbling to the ground with a laugh. He heard footsteps and lifted his head, squinting up at the blurry shape through the dark.

"Well don't you look positively smashed. Did you finish this whole bottle by yourself? Selfish arse, you could've shared."

"Carver? I hear your voice, but 'm spared lookin' at yer ugly mug, where you at?"

The youth bent over him, the proximity bringing him into focus a little more.

"Ah, there you are, you handsome lad you. Did you want a hug? I feel as if we haven't hugged enough."

"I don't want a hug. You smell of vomit and snotty wine."

"It's my natural musk. Draws in the ladies."

Garrett giggled at his own wit, but Carver found no amusement in the jest. He stooped down, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling the man to his feet. Upright, the world swayed even more, and the eldest Hawke found himself stumbling to one side. He would've been doomed to trip again were Carver not there, pulling his arm over his shoulder and taking his brother's weight upon himself. Garrett gratefully leaned into the younger boy.

"Come on then, let's get you home."

"When did you...get so tall?"

"We're the same height, brother."

"Yes but...I specifically remember...you not being this tall."

Carver gritted his teeth and began to walk for the gates, leaving the empty bottle of wine propped up against his Father's grave.

"You're piss drunk, Garrett."

The man gasped loudly.

"No...really? When did you...get so...wobbly?"

"I'll take comfort in the fact that you're too drunk to form a proper insult." Carver focused on the steps to take that would lead them home, their progress painfully slow due to the dead weight of his unbalanced brother.

"Not...not true. I can...Oh, did you have a good cry, baby brother?"

Carver stiffened, but continued walking.

"You were in need of a good cry. I figured thatsh what you were runnin' off to do. S'a solid way to deal with your problems."

"Oh yes?" hissed the younger Hawke, "says the man who couldn't stand on his own because he drank himself near to death on his father's grave."

"It would've been poetic," Garrett sighed dreamily, causing Carver to stop and stare in shock at the man.

"You weren't...actually trying, were you?"

"I can stand on my own!" Garrett suddenly stumbled forward, rushing to prove a point instead of answering his brother's question. Unfortunately, he moved too quickly for his own good, almost eating a face full of road, were Carver no there to catch him by the arm and drag him upright. "See? I'm...I'm the picture of success...I should win a prize...oh...did you get yours?"

"My...what? What're you going on about?"

"Father 'n I were gonna give you a prize. For being the angriest in all of Thedas."

Carver huffed, choosing to ignore his brother's rambles as they continued. Garrett was far too inebriated to take the silence in stride and continued to spew words into the night.

"I think...you 'n I need to set some standards...as to who little Beth can date...I'd like to start the bidding at humans. No dwarves for our sister. And no elves...unless they're pretty. 'N like, not the elven pretty, cause most elves I think are pretty, but like...a _real_ pretty. You know what I mean?"

"No."

"See, that's what I like about you, Carver, you _get _me."

Carver wasn't even sure if that was sarcasm. It sounded like it should be, but Garrett had spoken so sincerely.

"Here, why don't you 'n I go hit up a bar and I'll buy you a few rounds..."

"You wouldn't wake up in the morning."

"Only...only a minor setback...pfffffft, I don't need to wake up in the morning. I have _you_ for that."

"We're going home."

"But it's my birthday, Carver! Happy birthday to me...happy birthday to me!"

Carver bit his lip and narrowed his eyes, dragging his brother along a little more harshly. Finally, the man fell silent. And were it not for the steady trudge of his feet, Carver would've thought he'd passed out. They Hawkes travelled in silence until, with surprising control over his volume, Garrett spoke again.

"You can have it, if you want it," he said, his words slow and deliberate, like he was making a true effort to get them right.

"Have what, brother." Carver wasn't really asking, because he wasn't really listening.

"My...my life...You can have it...I don't want it anymore."

Carver's heart jumped to his throat and began pounding a furious rhythm that did nothing to stop the icy sensation crawling up his back. He gave his brother a sideways glance, expression baffled by the bold display of complete weakness. Those words had terrified and enraged the boy all the same, but he forced himself to breathe even and swallow the cold lump in his throat with as much indifference as he could fake.

"Rubbish. That bottle is talking for you."

"No...no it's not. I'm talking for me. You wanna be the big man? Go ahead. You be the older brother. You'd probably do a better job anyway."

Garrett tripped, pulling Carver down with him as he just gave up on walking all together. The younger Hawke picked himself out of the dirt with a string of curses and rolled his brother onto his back.

"Come on, enough of this. We're gonna get you home and-"

Garrett was crying.

Carver didn't know what to do. He'd never seen his brother cry, even when he was on a drunken tangent. Garrett was typically a very cheery, friendly drunk. In the past, it had been annoying, but now the boy would give anything to have that Garrett here now.

Even when his father had died, Garrett managed to keep himself composed. He'd never been the type for tears, always laughing off misfortune with a joke or bitter sarcasm. Honestly, for some time, Carver just assumed the eldest Hawke was born without tear glands.

The man simply stared upwards, a smile on his face that looked decidedly sad thanks to the tears.

"Why'd he go, Carver?"

The boy sat back on his rear, looking down to his brother with a saddened smile of his own.

"'Cause he's an ass."

"That's what I thought, too. Void take him, the blighter."

Carver frowned, casting a guilty look somewhere off to his right. He hadn't dared to breathe those words, but he'd thought them all the same.

"I'll do my best, baby brother."

"I know."

"I'll take care of you 'n Beth 'n mum."

Carver took longer to reply.

"I know."

"You'll all die," he said quietly.

"Come on, Brother, up you get. It's time to go home." Carver intended to stop the talk of death with the talk of home, dragging his kin to his feet for a second time.

"I don't know what he was thinking...leaving me at the head...I'll be the death of you all." Garrett gave a dry laugh, making Carver's stomach churn in discomfort. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to hear his brother talk like this.

"Don't talk stupid. Let's go."

They began to walk.

"I'm sorry, brother."

"What for?"

"Everything," Garrett breathed, "everything I've ever done and will ever do."

Carver stared ahead for a while, unable to respond for the longest while. When they began to approach their little family farmhouse, he finally settled on what to say.

"I'll forgive you."

Garrett smiled.

"Every time? No matter what?"

Carver bit his lip again, scowling into the dirt, but the expression was wasted on the intoxicated man. He was so far gone, he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. He would say what he had to, just to make him happy. Happy and quiet.

"Every time," Carver echoed, uncomfortable with the look of relief on his brother's face. "No matter what."


	8. Him

The Hawke brothers didn't see eye-to-eye on many things, and on what few aspects they could agree on, peace was only reached after pointless bickering. It was even more of a rarity to find something that the two agreed on readily, no bickering required. One such rarity was their shared opinion on the country boy that had been sweet on their sister. He had started courting her in the fall months just after the twins' 17th, and both Hawke boys saw no good in the youth.

Physically, he met their qualifications with mediocre success. He was short, maybe only a little taller than their sister, but farm work gave the boy a good build. Problem was, because of his height, he seemed very _rectangular_ to the Hawke brothers. He had a strong, square jaw and a long face capped by sun-bleached blonde hair. He was well tanned from his work but his broad-shouldered, well-muscled build looked stocky at best. And though they'd never discussed their Bethany-suitor criteria with one another prior to her meeting the lad, they both agreed this new flame was _not_ up to standards.

The Bethany-suitor criteria had become a necessary reality in the summer months where at 16, the Hawke youth was drawing the attention of many a man about town. Her baby fat had worn off fast as a child due to her training with her father, so she'd always been somewhat twiggy before her mid-teen years. When puberty hit, she began to fill out. Her bust and hips curved outwards generously, her torso slender and her legs long and lean.

Her brothers noted what others were slower to see – the innocence on her round face that had been present since their earlier years. Her big amber eyes were always wide with curiosity and bright with life. They saw trust in her face, and were equally put on edge by it.

She was just _too_ trusting. She was never vain, so she never learned how to swing her hips in such a way to make a man swoon or how to bat her long lashes _just so. _Somehow, those skills came naturally to her, and whether she meant to or not, as she adjusted to the changes of her body, she used them – frequently.

Most of the time, she failed to notice the way the sway of her hips drew the eyes of men as she walked, or misinterpreted the lowering of their eyes as she spoke with them as shyness. When she did catch on to their less-than-innocent ogling, she would blush and laugh it off – sending the wrong message entirely unintentionally. They thought she was just being coy, or chose to believe so. In reality, the middle Hawke was just too kind to shun a man's advances, or take offence to the way they all but _drooled_ over her.

Her brothers were not quite as forgiving.

Garrett was less obvious about his distaste than Carver, whose hackles rose whenever he recognized the expression on a male's face as their eyes raked his twin's figure. He was likely to step in the way of their stares, returning their looks with a glare that screamed murder. Most of the time, people got the message when the broad-chested warrior stepped in front of his sister and radiated hostility, but there had been a few cases where a bold chap had simply tried to see _around_ the block. Those cases usually ended with Bethany pulling her younger brother off the unfortunate soul or stepping in the way of an intimidating charge that would've made a Qunari proud.

Garrett was just as protective of his little sister, but failed to take his duty as seriously as Carver believed he should have. When they were out together and he spotted men mustering up the will to make a move, Garrett would amp up his charm. He would take advantage of the closeness he shared with his sister, throwing an arm over her shoulder or kissing her temple affectionately. Seeing the eldest Hawke get chummy with his sibling was usually enough to deter those who would approach – for they knew that speaking to Bethany Hawke at that time would _also_ entail speaking with Garrett, who was notoriously difficult to get along with while his sister was being courted right in front of him. Those few who were willing to chance Garrett's wily wily ways ran the risk of getting an icy look when Bethany's eyes were elsewhere.

Garrett didn't have the heat of his younger brother's glare, but he didn't need it. When he chose to frighten a man with a look, his eyes were cold and cruel, his very aura becoming hostile around him and often freezing a potential suitor in place. It was the look of a man who would laugh and joke about the violent things he could do and then _promise to do them the moment you dropped your guard._

But Bethany was a sharp girl and quickly learned that an outing with either of her brothers had them constantly on the defence for her sake. While the fact that they cared so much was endearing, they were smothering her with their protectiveness. How was she supposed to learn what types to avoid if her hot-and-cold brothers scared them all off before she could speak with them? She _wanted_ to talk to these men, to see if there was more to their interest in her than physical desire. She never got the chance to when her kin were around.

So, every now and again Bethany would slip out unnoticed, or dismiss herself and tell her brothers in a firm voice to _sit. Stay._

It was on one of those 'unsupervised' outings that she met Peter. Their meeting had been chaste enough – he'd collided with her in his haste to finish his errands and spilled her groceries out into the street. After apologies from both flustered humans, they laughed over the incident. He offered to walk her back into town and replace the groceries they could not salvage.

Peter was quite the gentleman the entire time. They laughed with one another as they traded stories. Bethany told him of her family – of her elder brother and her twin – and how they lived together with their mother in a pleasant little house on the edge of town. Peter, in return, told her his family was in Denerim. He was in Lothering under the employment of his uncle, who needed a farmhand now that his wife was expecting. He'd only been in the town for a few months, but found it was a pleasant place – less busy.

She accepted his offer to walk her home, but stopped him before they came in view of the house. After insisting that this was far enough and refusing his requests to see her inside, they stood around as awkward teenagers before Peter found the will to speak.

"Would you be interested in meeting again?" he asked hesitantly, trying to put on his most charming smile. "Under more formal circumstances, of course. Perhaps an evening walk of the grounds sometime? They're beautiful when the sun sets."

"I'd like that," said the Hawke girl with a shy smile. She offered him her hand. "It was lovely to meet you, serah."

He smiled at her, a lopsided grin that was decidedly cute, and took her dainty hand in his calloused own. He gave it a squeeze and brought it to his lips, planting a delicate kiss on her knuckles that made her swoon and laugh girlishly.

"Oh my, well um, thank you for um...everything. How's tomorrow evening for you?"

"Perfect."

* * *

Garrett had been in love before, shortly after his fiasco with the gypsy camp and their blood mage. He was coming up on his 17th, and after almost three months of limited contact with the outside world, his father had finally eased up on his house arrest. Freedom and trust were pure bliss when they where both returned – he'd gone so long without either in entirety from his family. It had been hard, painful and humiliating to endure the scorn of his mother and father and the disdain of his siblings for as long as he had.

But time had closed the wounds and reinforced their bonds as a family. Malcolm even had the good grace to allow his eldest to continue the practice of healing magic – but only on occasion and with his strict supervision. The wounds Garrett would close were ones his father inflicted on himself – a grim motivation to keep his focus and dissuade him for asking to practice too often.

However, the ability to practice healing was outweighed by the ability to go about town unsupervised once more. An early curfew was installed into his life and would be enforced until adulthood, but that could be overlooked. He re-connected with friends and villagers he'd grown fond of as quickly as he could, and eventually it once again became 'the norm' to see Garrett Hawke around the market during the day.

It wasn't long before someone out of the newcomers to arrive in town caught his eye. A convoy of caravans had rattled into the market and brought with it a few merchants and their families. One fabrics merchant travelled with his wife and daughter.

Garrett had fallen head over heels for that girl, a true case of love-at-first-sight. She was a pretty thing with the pale flesh of a sheltered life and deep brown hair that was well-kept and lengthy. At eighteen, she was a little older than the young mage, but that didn't deter the boy at all. The girl had barely been in town more than a day and she received the full force of Garrett's unhindered charm.

Initially, she'd brushed him off politely, but he was persistent and lead her to be more harsh with her rejections. She was betrothed already to a man in Redcliffe – that's where her father's caravan was heading next – and was expected to be pure for her new husband. It was a loveless arrangement – she'd met the man before only once on a previous trip. He was, to her description, a vile, rude man well over twice her age. But he was wealthy and had friends in high places, he could set her family up for the rest of their lives. Her father and mother could retire from the road and live in peace.

At her expense, Garrett pointed out.

"Sometimes loss is necessary," she had countered, "be it yourself or your family, sometimes one must fall for the others to survive."

But in this conversation where she'd shared all this with the strapping young lad, she'd made a fatal error. She showed that she trusted him – that she cared enough to share her true feelings on the arrangement and discuss a subject so intimate. This only encouraged the boy, unpleasant old fiancés be damned.

His persistent advances finally paid off in the back of her father's caravan while he was out negotiating trades with another merchant. It had been clumsy and adolescent, both teens going off instinct and feelings with only the faintest sense of direction between the pair of them. But the experience had been enough to break her resolve and they found themselves returning to one another's embraces as often as they could.

Impassioned, eager and curious, the two met frequently. The time and place depended on when she could slip away from her family and their meetings were always brief – for her sake, they couldn't afford to have her away for too long. However, to her disdain, what had started as tension and frustration had turned into a form of rebellion. Then she started to truly care.

This was their undoing.

She lingered too long with him and was caught one afternoon, the pair a breathless tangle of limbs behind a tool shed a few minute's walk from the market. Her father had been furious. He'd torn them from one another and dragged her back through the town by the arm, ignoring her pleas and the boy's apologies.

She was thrown into the family Caravan and he yelled for his wife to pack up their belongings. The merchant stormed about the market with Garrett on his heels, spewing anything he could to save them – or at the very least, his lover. The merchant ignored his apologies, the blame he placed on himself, how he begged for a chance to explain and to talk to the man as an equal. When the last of their things had been thrown aboard their cart – the daughter stuffed in the back despite her cries and pleading – he rounded on the boy who'd ruined his daughter and punched him so hard in an uppercut that he sent the boy sprawling back on the ground.

In a daze, Garrett had tried to get up and go after them as their horses clopped off down the dusty path, but instead found himself immobilized by pain and nausea. He lay there at the market edge for some time, weighed down by heartbreak and the spinning of his brain in his skull. Someone sent for the Hawkes, and it wasn't long before the boy found himself staring up into the face of his father.

"Hey, pa," Garrett had croaked, offering Malcolm a weak smile.

"Hey yourself," the man returned. It was then that the eldest Hawke child noted his brother in their father's shadow, watching with wide eyes. Malcolm crouched down to the boy's level and with gentle fingers, tilted his head back to examine the bruise. "Feeling okay?"

"Like I've been run over by a house, yes."

"A house?"

"Oh. No..I meant horse. But house works...that's pretty accurate too." The boy's words were slurred, hissed out through a throbbing headache, no doubt.

Malcolm helped his broken boy to his feet, eventually handing him off to his brother so he could get the full story from one of the merchants who'd witnessed it. Carver wasn't really needed for much more than to occasionally grab Garrett by the arm and pull him back upright when he started to sway. The boys didn't exchange words. Carver didn't understand what had happened, but he knew by the look on his brother's face that he was hurting, and not just from the bruise.

Malcolm returned to walk both boys home, keeping a hand on his son's shoulders as they progressed through the town.

He hadn't been punished then. Both his parents agreed that, while being incredibly stupid, Garrett hadn't really done anything wrong by them. The punishment he _had_ received was harsh enough, the poor boy was rattled by the event. The twins had tried to comfort him – Carver's presence more for the sake of being there than to offer any words as Bethany did all of the talking – but they found he'd already shut them out. He laughed and talked as if the incident had been no big deal – a joy ride, in fact.

To all the world, it looked as if Garrett had picked himself up quite nicely after that incident. Truthfully, maybe he had, for within the month he was back to charming the girls on the streets and over the years he dallied with wine and women on his nights off, but the experience had been an enlightening one.

He knew of love, yes, and he knew of the simpler form of lust. Which is why he was the first of the Hawke brothers to figure out what Bethany had been up to in the weeks following her 17th celebration. Bethany was very obviously enamoured. The content sighs while staring off into space, the soft giggles and cheery tunes she hummed under her breath, the way her mood would progressively get better as an errand approached that involved leaving the house – they were all clear signs that someone had his dear sister's attention.

He trusted Bethany and believed that whatever she was involved with was infinitely more chaste than the relationship he'd been in. What he didn't trust was the object of her affections, mostly because he'd never seen the lad, but also because he didn't want her with any boy that reminded him of himself – a boy with good manners where it mattered and a helping of charm, but not exactly interested in the subject of 'love'.

One day he took the liberty to follow one of her outings with an excursion of his own. He wasn't _intending_ to follow her at all, but if he saw her while she was out, that just couldn't be helped. She dismissed herself for a grocery run one afternoon, and Garrett waited a few minutes after she'd left. He then declared the great outdoors were calling and followed.

He didn't try to retrace her steps. That would be suspicious and admittedly a little overbearing. Instead he headed for the market, looking to all the world like he was only out for a stroll. He eventually spotted the pair browsing the stalls together. The instant he noticed them, he backed into the shadow of a building to stare. It was then that he decided the boy was stocky, much too short and far too box-shaped for his sister, but he held his tongue and watched as they wandered from stall to stall, hand in hand.

His jaw set firm when he saw the boy put his arm around his sister's waist and pull her close. His hand lingered dangerously close to little Beth's shapely rear, resting a little low on her hip.

_Too low._

Garrett must have been unnerving people with his hard stare, for someone called a shaky greeting and asked if he was okay. He slapped on a grin, returned the greeting and laughed off the look as gas. He then fell straight faced, much to the alarm of the concerned passerby, turned around and marched back to the house.

"Brother conference!"

Garrett burst through the door to the back yard where Carver had been throwing a weighty rubber ball for Atticus to chase.

"What are you on about?" Carver pulled the ball from Atticus's jaws and prepared to throw. The dog wagged its rump, backing up while keeping his eyes fixed on the youngest Hawke.

"We need to have a brotherly talk."

"Oh, joy. Again?" Carver launched the ball as far as he could into the field, and Atticus took off after it. "I was hoping those were a once-in-a-lifetime thing."

"No. They're more of a 'whenever I feel like it' thing. Also, how would you like a second brother?" At this, Carver turned a look of bewilderment to the eldest Hawke, without a clue as to how to react. "I thought so," Garrett continued, "so then Bethany can never get married. Agreed."

"Wait up. Bethany? What's going on with Bethany? She's not getting married, is she?"

"No. I don't think so. At least, not if I can help it."

Atticus returned with the ball and dropped it at Carver's feet. The youth didn't immediately stoop to pick it up, instead focusing on narrowing his eyes at his older brother. He always felt stupid when he had to ask so many questions, but Garrett was never very clear when he was ranting.

"What's all this, then?" Carver gestured to his brother and Atticus whined quietly. In the pause he received before an answer, the boy bent to pick up the ball. He didn't toy with the dog this time, giving it a good toss into the field without delay.

"It turns out I was right about our little Beth."

"Garrett," Carver growled, quickly tiring of being kept in the dark.

"Carver," Garrett returned, "you can't say you haven't noticed anything."

"And what if I haven't? I don't typically make a habit of poking into other people's business, brother." Carver's attempt at an insult was ignored, so he turned his attention instead out into the fields, watching the tall grass sway where Atticus was searching for the ball.

"It involves family. Therefore, I consider it our business. Or _my_ business if you'd prefer to be left out of the family grapevine."

Carver sighed, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and massage as his temples with his thumb and ring finger.

"Bethany's found herself a suitor."

This made Carver pause, lowering his hand and turning a curious look on his elder brother.

"And you've met him?"

"Not exactly. I've seen them together, though. Also, you'll be pleased to know that I've found someone who looks more like a brick than you do." Carver scowled at the elder Hawke but refused to respond to the barb.

"Why wouldn't she tell us?"

"Oh you know how it is, she wants to be independent. Find things out for herself, make mistakes, get messy – that sort of thing."

The younger Hawke made a face.

"I don't like the way you made that sound."

"Good."

"Oh please, boys." Both men whirled to face their mother, who stood in the open door with her arms folded over her chest and a smile on her face. "It's hardly your business who your sister chooses to date."

"Did you know, mother?" asked Garrett.

"Of course. It's hard for a girl to hide this sort of thing from her mother." The woman stepped down from the house to approach her boys, placing a warm hand on Garrett's shoulder and offering him a smile. "She's growing up, and she's a beautiful woman, I'm glad she's looking to her future. A lot of women in the cities are already betrothed by her age."

That struck a sour chord with Garrett, but it didn't show. Thankfully, Carver had the 'being stubborn' part of their united opinion covered.

"Yes, but we're not in the city. And if this guy's so great, why hasn't she told us about him? If she'd nothing to hide, she would've just told us." Carver folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Atticus had given up on their game and was chewing on his ball by the door, his small, dark eyes watching the humans as if he were interested. Leandra smiled again and shook her head.

"You two tend to take your protectiveness overboard with her, maybe she wants time to figure out if this is right for her without your interference."

"Nonsense," Garrett waved a hand, "family interference is pivotal in any major decision."

Leandra looked from one stubborn Hawke child to the next, her expression thoughtful. Eventually, she let out a long sigh and backed off, heading back towards the house with a knowing roll of her eyes.

"If you two feel this is necessary, I won't pry. You're old enough to make your own choices."

The brothers exchanged a look, but they were not wavered by their mother's dissuasion. They gave her matching frowns as she shut the door behind her, while Atticus put his thoughts on the matter in with a whine.

* * *

When Bethany got home, she was a little unnerved to find both of her brothers waiting. Carver was leaning forward in the armchair, while Garrett reclined on the loveseat blowing a feather around in the air. She entered, set the groceries down in the kitchen, then leaned against the door jamb with a knowing smile.

"Found out, did you?"

Carver looked up to his twin, his expression unimpressed. Garrett kept playing with the feather.

"Why didn't you tell us?" the youngest asked, turning in his chair to better face her.

"Because it's none of your business, I didn't think it mattered to the entire family who I chose to see on my spare time."

"Well if it doesn't matter, why did you hide it?"

"To avoid this sort of reaction."

The twins were drawn to Garrett, who let out an exceptionally long huff to blow the feather back to the ceiling. He tilted his head back to look at his upside-down sister.

"I want to meet him," he said simply. "You should invite him over for dinner."

Which is how Peter found himself at the Hawke's table the following evening. Leandra had been thrilled at the prospect of meeting the lad, more so at the fact that they would be having company over for the first time in a while. She pulled out all of the stops to prepare a roast chicken dinner, complete with baked potatoes and steamed vegetables harvested from the garden.

When the guest of honor knocked at the door, Bethany had been setting the table. Garrett was the one to answer, greeted with the sight of the boy at the market, cleaned up and dressed nicely – to impress. The eldest Hawke looked down on the youth – who was decidedly younger than Garrett – and was reminded of how short he was. Truly, just a little taller than Bethany, who stood a head or so shorter than her brothers.

Peter was unnerved by that calculating look on the man's face, left standing in silence on the doorstep.

"H-hello?" he said quietly, and the man seemed to snap to life. He grinned a wide grin and opened the door to allow him entrance.

"You must be the man of the hour. Come on in then."

Peter was hesitant to enter, but did so with an encouraging look from Bethany, who caught his eyes from the kitchen. The man introduced himself as Garrett, then introduced their younger brother, who was stalking about the house in a sweat-drenched shirt with an axe slung over his shoulder. When Peter united with Bethany, she explained that Carver had been out chopping wood for the fire, and that Garrett had been hovering by the door all evening just _waiting_ to sink his claws into the newcomer.

Somehow, this wasn't all that reassuring

But at dinner, the Hawkes were a civil, enjoyable people. Garrett told stories and jokes that made his mother sputter indignantly, while he and Peter roared with laughter. Carver watched with an amused half-smile, occasionally inserting a biting remark directed at his brother or adding to the stories with his own perspective. Bethany laced her fingers with Peter's under the table, taking comfort in the fact that neither Carver nor Garrett seemed to notice or care.

They did, in fact, but carried on otherwise.

When dinner had been cleared and they sat about the table chatting, Peter found the confidence to move his hand to her thigh, leaning closer to Bethany and planting a daring kiss on her cheek. She giggled and turned red, a little afraid Carver might launch himself over the table and strangle the lad.

Surprisingly, neither of the Hawke brothers reacted at all. They carried on talking as if nothing were amiss, trading stories and insults without missing a beat.

This seemed to make Peter bolder, and his hand slid a little further, to her inner thigh, gently rubbing his thumb along the length of muscle under his hand. At this, her brothers still didn't react, but she was a little put off by it. His hand was wandering dangerously close to a place entirely indecent for the dinner table. She wasn't sure if she was quite ready for this level of intimacy, let alone in front of her family. She chuckled and inconspicuously moved his hand away, lacing their fingers again – not wanting to draw attention to her discomfort, aware that both of her siblings would tear him apart if given reason.

The boy stopped his advances for a time, but still leaned over to plant an occasional kiss on her cheek or forehead.

Before the end of the night his hand had moved back to her thigh and this time, in fear of alerting her watchful brothers, she did not move it.

When the time had come for Peter to return home, Garrett offered to take him out to the end of the road, and would simply not be talked out of escorting the younger boy. Not wanting to shatter the peace, Peter agreed warmly, parting from Bethany with a kiss and heading out into the night before the eldest Hawke. The mage shut the door behind them, leaving Carver and Bethany standing alone in the hall. Mother had already retired for the night.

"Thank you for being so...accepting of him," Bethany said after a moment of silence, turning to her twin with a smile. "To be honest, I was worried you two would start someth-"

"He's no good," said Carver flatly, giving the door a hard stare. Bethany watched his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth.

"Excuse me?"

"He's a rotter, Beth. He's no good."

Bethany's jaw fell open first, at surprise. When she clamped it shut, she'd rearranged her expression to be offended. Peter was not a rotter, and he most certainly _was_ a good man. Carver was just being overprotective, and probably a little jealous that someone was taking their sister away from them.

"You've no grounds to say that, Carver. You barely know him."

"I don't need to. I've seen enough." Carver turned back, heading into the kitchen to fetch something to drink, giving the messy table an unenthusiastic look. Bethany followed, not quite satisfied with that explanation.

"What do you mean you've 'seen enough,?!' He's hardly shown anything! He was too afraid to with the two of you there!"

Carver gave his sister a look of confusion, then shrugged. He went to start stacking dishes, aware Bethany was doing the same across from him, only to keep this conversation going.

"I don't know how to explain it, but I know I'm right. You should break it off with him if you know what's good for you."

At this, Bethany dropped the dishes in her hands into the sink with a little more force than was necessary. She was lucky none broke.

"Excuse me, Carver, but you hardly have any right to tell me who I can and cannot see. I thought you were getting along nicely!"

Again, the younger twin shrugged, unsure how to explain a gut feeling. Bethany was dissatisfied at this answer and angrily stormed for the door – she was going to go get Peter and...do something. Talk to him, maybe ask him how he thought the night went, she wasn't sure exactly what would happen, but her brother telling her _not_ to be with him made her want to do the exact opposite.

She probably would've stormed out into the street were Garrett not at the door, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his coat.

"Where is he?" she demanded, a lot more harshly than she'd intended. Garrett hadn't done anything wrong, after all. He'd even offered to see him out.

"Heading home, I assume," he said.

Bethany noticed something was off. Garrett's response was flat, almost monotone and entirely unlike him. She clenched her jaw to stop it from hanging open.

"Don't tell me you agree with Carver." She didn't elaborate. Although she was hoping otherwise, she had a feeling she didn't need to.

"Okay," said Garrett, his tone still unwavering, "I won't."

Then he simply shut his mouth, handed his sister his coat and moved into the kitchen to help clean up. She was stunned into silence for a few moments, confused by her brothers' reactions. The middle Hawke took a few minutes to collect her thoughts, listening to her brothers moving about as they tidied. With another huff, she threw Garrett's coat over the back of the love seat and followed him into the kitchen.

"Alright, explain yourselves. What exactly is wrong with him? You can't just tell me he's no good without actually having a reason, that's not fair."

The boys exchanged a look, but said nothing. Bethany was left to try and decipher what the pair was communicating in such a blank stare. Without a word, Garrett turned to her, patted her on the shoulder and then gently moved her out of the way so he could pass. She heard him climbing the steps and the familiar creak of the ceiling as he found his way to his room.

"W-what? What's going on?"

"You can't tell, sister?" Carver was honestly surprised, looking up to his twin after wiping down their table. He slung the cloth over his shoulder. He wasn't usually the perceptive one.

"I can't- I don't know what's wrong with the two of you! Everything was fine, and now all of a sudden Garrett's not talking and you're being terribly complex! You've completely flipped on yourselves!"

"Beth," Carver said simply, and she snapped her attention to him. "He's angry."

"What? Who? Peter?"

"No. Garrett."

"Wh-Why? What's there to be mad about?"

Her twin only shrugged yet again, finished his share of the cleaning, grabbed his drink then followed his brother upstairs. The table had been cleared and the counters cleaned, but there was a sink full of dishes that fell on her to wash, alone, with two brothers being dreadfully confusing on the floor above her. Biting back tears she couldn't explain, she stormed for the sink to clean.


	9. Insist

The next day, Bethany had no more luck getting an explanation from either of her brothers. Carver only continued to shrug and insist this wasn't something he was equipped to explain, while Garrett laughed the whole thing off, refusing to take anything she said on the matter seriously.

So, in spite of the experience, she did carry on seeing Peter. He knew things had not gone right after he'd left that night, but Bethany wasn't willing to share the details. To be fair, he wasn't exactly telling her about the exchange he'd had with her brother. He would've told her, if Garrett Hawke's threat didn't grip his heart with a cold fear every time he gave the matter thought.

"_You hurt her, kid, and I will introduce you to the demons of __**our**__ world."_

He could still feel the hand on his shoulder that seemed to freeze his flesh at the touch, the way the cold had seeped into his very soul and left him breathless. He was afraid of the man, definitely, unable to understand how he'd gone from cheerful and friendly to dark and intimidating so suddenly.

As time passed and Peter saw no more of the Hawke brothers, he found himself able to focus on Bethany once again. They turned away from her family and towards each other, growing closer with every passing day. However, it soon became apparent that Peter was looking for things from her she wasn't quite ready to give.

Their relationship had stayed chaste, innocent and youthful for weeks, something Bethany found refreshing and exciting all the same. She wasn't pressured to do things she wasn't ready for. They held hands, they kissed, the held each other beneath the stars. Innocent, romantic things that made her heart flutter and kept her happy.

It was clear with time that Peter did not share her patience nor her desire for chastity at this stage in her life. More frequently she found herself shying away from his advances, or moving the placement of his hands to somewhere a little more appropriate. She couldn't ignore the way her heart fluttered and her face flushed at the contacts, but she stood firm in the belief that this wasn't what she wanted.

She cared more for the emotional than the physical, she was curious, yes, but she knew that she was still young. Her elder brother may have been a rakehell, but she did not share his passions. Besides, it had only been a few weeks, he didn't know what she was or what she was capable of. The fact was, she didn't know Peter well enough, she didn't trust him with that secret just yet. And if she couldn't trust him with the truth, how could she be expected to trust him with herself?

Peter was either too stubborn to understand or just didn't care. His advances continued, getting bolder and bolder with each day he was denied. She knew she was being a tease, going along for it with as long as she would, but Maker it was _hard_ to push someone away who wanted to shower you with attention. It got to the point where preparing for an outing with him was exciting, thrilling and frightening all the same. She wasn't sure if she liked the feeling.

Carver was at her door as she was pinning up her hair. They were going for a walk – a sunset walk – like the ones they went on when they first met. The fall nights often got chilly, but Bethany didn't like having her hair in her face when the wind picked up. She threw a hello over her shoulder, figuring her twin was just passing by, but no, he was hesitating, his well muscled build taking up the space in the doorway.

"Are you okay?" he asked, a concerned frown on his boyish face. She smiled at him as he approached, all the while trying to smooth a flyaway down.

"Of course I am, why do you ask?"

His hand came up and grabbed her wrist, holding it still as he stared at her hand. She pressed her lips together and steeled her nerves, but it was too late.

"You're shaking."

"I'm excited," she breathed, not entirely untrue. "It's been a while since we went on a walk like this, it's really sweet."

She turned a smile up to her younger brother, who made no effort to hide his concern. She reassured him with a quick hug, then gathered herself together and headed for the stairs, aware that her twin was behind her.

"If you need something...you'll...we'll..." Carver searched for the right words. "You don't have to go," he said at last. At this, she made a puzzled face, an expression that was genuine. She may have been nervous, but she _did_ want to see Peter. She wanted their walk to go on as planned.

"But I want to," she said. "Peter's fine," she reassured, now put off by her twin's worrying. "There's nothing to be concerned about. I'll be home later." With those words, she threw on her coat, waved goodbye and shuffled out the door. She cursed Carver under her breath, unhappy with the feeling of unease in her stomach and blaming her twin for putting it there. She smoothed out her coat and walked for the edge of town where she knew Peter would be waiting, working herself into a good mood with positive thoughts and happy memories.

Their walk went on a lot longer than intended. The sky above them was dark and littered with stars before they'd gotten halfway around the grounds. Peter had her by the hand and seemed to be walking incredibly slow. Every time she looked back to him, he was staring at her intently. It was a little unnerving, but Bethany hid the feeling with conversation.

Their conversation was pleasant and reminded her of when they were first getting to know one another. The spoke of their families, of their pasts, and for the first time in a while, Bethany spoke of her father.

It wasn't as hard to do as she thought it would be, probably because of the warm hand in hers giving her an encouraging squeeze. But something inside her was willing to keep her emotions distant when she spoke of the late Malcolm Hawke with this boy. She did not cry in Peter's presence, but kept a saddened smile in place instead.

She left out the parts where she, her brother and father were mages, but shared with Peter the story of how often they moved, of how Lothering was the first place to feel like home, of how often the three Hawke children got into trouble. As she spoke, they wandered off the path, heading instead towards a grassy hill. They settled into the soft ground and laid back to look at the stars, their fingers still laced together.

When Bethany had finished sharing the censored version of their history, they lay in silence for quite some time. When Peter did speak, his words cut through the night like a spear.

"I love you," he said.

Bethany felt the breath leave her at the unexpected remark, as if she'd been hit by a wave of force.

Where had _that_ come from?

Suddenly he was above her, his weight pressing down on her as he tickled her with kisses. She didn't react, she wasn't sure _how_ to react, only aware that she was unconsciously tilting her head back as the boy moved to draw a line of kisses down her neck.

He loved her?

Her head hurt.

Wasn't that what she wanted? Someone to love her? Here, he admitted it, saying those three words she had been told were so difficult to say in earnest. His warm hands were all over her and for once, she couldn't find the will to push them away, even as they went for the buttons of her coat. If he loved her, than that made it okay, right?

Bethany hesitantly lifted her hands and unsure what to do with them, settled them on his back in an embrace as his own hands explored the stored warmth of her body inside the coat. His lips were at her neck, placing warm, wet kisses on her collarbone and in the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered away like a bird.

A voice in the back of her mind asked her if she loved him.

Peter? Likely not, she thought as his hands traced down her sides, pressed into her hips and then slid back to her rump. She barely knew him, after all. She did like him. She liked him a lot. He was a dear friend, a sweet boy, someone she enjoyed talking to. She knew that with time, such a feeling could blossom into love, but it wasn't there now. She wasn't even sure she knew what that feeling really was yet. She loved her mother. She loved her brothers. She would die for them in a heartbeat.

But the same did not apply for the boy who's fingers now clutched at her rear.

She sucked in a gasp of air, breaking the surface of her haze with a start.

"W-wait," she breathed, moving her hands to his chest and giving him a slight push. He lifted his head and hissed a breathless and irritated:

"_What?_"

She blinked at him, figuring it was obvious. He didn't wait in her silence, dipping his head back down to nip at her throat as his hands pulled her hips up against him.

"W-wait!" She repeated, pulling her rear down into the ground and pushing at his chest a second time. She lowered her head, only to regret the action as he came up at the same time, smacking her jaw against his skull accidentally. He hissed at the pain and she tasted blood from where her teeth had caught her tongue, but she spoke anyways. "We shouldn't do this...We should wait."

Peter gave an exasperated laugh, rearing up slightly, his weight on his knees.

"W-what, seriously?"

Bethany nodded, and Peter answered by lowering to her again, his lips at the centre of her collarbone. At this, no longer in her confused haze, Bethany got a little hostile. Her push become more forceful, but that didn't stop him. He simply pushed more of his weight down on her in response as his lips traced lower and lower, pausing as his teeth pulled at the fabric of her bodice just before her breast.

She felt the magic surging through her veins, concentrating into a sudden heat in the palm of her hands.

Which was why she was entirely unprepared for when Peter went flying off her of his own accord.

No, no, not of his own accord. He'd been _shoved_ off by the physical force of a magical strike. As he rolled to a halt in the grass, sputtering and coughing from the blow, he looked up to where the strike had come from – to where Garrett Hawke twirled his staff in his right hand, approaching the prone form of his little sister looking positively _infuriated._

Peter began to pick himself out of the dirt, but Garrett swung out with his staff again, a blast of physical force knocking the boy back a few more paces.

"Garrett!"

Bethany rolled to her feet, woozy from the rush of blood to her head. Her brother was there in an instant, an arm around her waist to steady her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, searching her face for any sign of pain – then grimacing at the marks on her neck and chest. "Did he hurt you?"

Bethany shook her head, then remembered her voice.

"N-no! I'm fine," she pushed her brother away, keeping her hands on his arm. "It's okay, I'm alright," she repeated. He seemed not to hear. He pulled his arm out of his sister's grip and advanced on the boy, who was sputtering in the dirt from the force of two ethereal punches. As he saw the man approaching, a scowl on his face and a darkness in his eyes, he struggled to rise to his feet. He stumbled back when he'd found his balance, pointing an accusing finger at his attacker.

"You're a mage!"

"I am," was Garrett's even response, followed quickly by a sweep of his staff. Peter was expecting to be knocked back, instead surprised to find a wave of ice had encased his feet and bound him to the ground. He cried out in fear, now realizing the true potential behind Garrett's earlier threat all those nights ago.

"P-please don't- I'll do anything, just don't hurt me!"

Garrett swung his staff around again, pointing the short blade at the end of the weapon right at the youth's throat. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, feeling the point of that blade digging into the soft flesh of his neck. He tilted his head away from the blade, squeezing his eyes shut and sending prayers to the Maker.

"Garrett," Bethany's voice was gentle as she pulled at her brother's arm. "Don't. I could've stopped him, but I didn't. I'm just as much at fault." When Garrett turned his hardened stare back to his little sister, his eyes softened. He rounded on Peter for a final time and nudged him with the blade.

"You're going to forget this night happened," he said simply, "or I'm going to _make_ you, no matter how many brain cells I have to burn to do it. Do I make myself clear?"

The boy's response was not more than a frightened whisper.

"C-crystal," he stammered.

Garrett gave the boy a sly smile and backed away. Peter watched as the Hawke patriarch offered his arm to his sister and then guided her back towards the village. They paused only long enough to gather her coat off the ground. It was then that the country boy realized his feet were still frozen to the earth.

"W-wait! You can't leave me here!"

The elder Hawke sibling ignored the cry for help, while Bethany only offered her suitor a saddened smile over her shoulder before the pair turned down the path and were gone.

* * *

Carver was dozing on the couch when the two returned. At the sound of the door, he bolted upright and Atticus gave an excited bark. His blue eyed stare landed first on his twin's solemn expression, then fell to the red marks on her neck and chest. His eyes narrowed and he rose from his seat, approaching her like a cat might stalk his prey.

"Did he hurt you?" he growled.

Were Bethany in a better mood, she might have made light of the fact that, despite their differences, both Hawke brothers had said the exact same words to her in the same night. Instead of speaking, she just shook her head and gave her twin a small smile. Garrett took her coat, then Carver lead his elder sister to the couch where the twins sat in silence for a few long moments.

Eventually, Bethany fell back to lean on her brother, who sat straight to allow it.

"He said he loved me," she said quietly, still plagued by that saddened smile.

"I call bullshit!" declared Garrett from somewhere in the hallway – where he was likely hanging up their coats.

"He said those words and I just thought, 'Well then if he said that, then it must be okay.'"

"Daft girl," Carver grumbled. Garrett came back into the living room and sat on the short table right across from the twins.

"I know, I'm an idiot," she agreed quietly. "I just thought..." she trailed off, unsure how to explain her feelings to her brothers who, by nature, solved most of their problems by attacking them head-on. "How did you know?" She said, then open question directed at both of the boys. "How did you know what he was like? That he would do that?"

Carver helpfully shrugged.

"Gut feeling."

"Or, for those of us guys in possession of more of a brain, we could see it." Garrett ignored the bitter look he got from Carver. He was so, so very used to them. "The fact that he got bolder in front of us at dinner meant he had something to prove. Sort of like a territorial thing, he was – whether he intended it or not – trying to establish you as his own in front of your family. If we had reacted negatively, it would've turned into a competition of him trying to prove he can steal you away."

"But...you didn't react...I dare say you almost approved." Bethany was glad to finally have someone talk her through exactly what went on with her brothers during dinner, but she didn't like the way she was being spoken of as a possession.

"Approved is a bit strong, but we definitely didn't react. Fighting him would turn it into a competition, approving would just make him bolder. Not reacting is the best thing to do with someone like that."

"So you knew he was the kind of guy to be...um...well...so forward?"

"More or less, yes."

Bethany could not get angry at her brothers and demand to know why they didn't stop her, because they _did_ try and warn her. And they _did_, as she'd requested, let her figure things out by herself. Garrett didn't have to have butt in when he did, but she was glad for the interference. Despite his advances, Peter was a good guy, she didn't really want to be the one to have to hurt him.

"Now go ahead and ask how dear brother knows how to explain all this," Carver said flatly, breaking her out of her thoughts. She turned her stare to the devilish grin of the eldest Hawke and had a feeling she already knew. "It takes one to know one, doesn't it, brother?"

"It does," Garrett agreed, bobbing his head in the affirmative. But he wasn't discouraged by his brother's jab. "Which is why I know to disapprove of your relationship when you find one."

Bethany smiled at her brother.

"Well thank you for knowing your type, Garrett – Carver, too." She pressed her weight into Carver affectionately. "I'm sorry I didn't listen."

Neither of the Hawke brothers answered. They didn't need to. They'd been looking out for one another since they'd been old enough to walk, that didn't change now.

* * *

There was a loud knock at the door the following morning, one that roused Carver from bed and encouraged him to stumble down the stairs to answer in nothing more than his shorts. What he saw when he pulled open that door made him grit his teeth and clench the knob tightly.

Peter.

He let a long breath out between his teeth when he realized that at least it wasn't the Templars as it very well could have been. Instead, he glared down at the boy who was probably a little older than him, and ground out an unfriendly:

"What do _you_ want?"

"I want to talk to your sister," he said.

"No," Carver growled, going to shut the door in the youth's face. He was stopped when the young man stepped forward and put his foot in the door.

"You don't have a choice, I want to talk to your sister."

"I don't have a choice?" Carver repeated, and Peter didn't hear the dangerous undertone he spoke with.

"If you don't let me see her, I'll tell the Chantry what your brother is. They'll drag him out here in chains."

Carver gave the man a long, hard stare, as if in thought. Finally, he blinked and leaned back a little.

"Wait here."

Peter smiled at the youngest Hawke, who vanished behind the door and could be heard walking up the stairs two-at-a-time. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, preparing his apology and whatever words he could use to salvage their relationship. After all, he _almost_ had Bethany Hawke, and were her brother not present, who knows where it could've gone from there?

He heard footsteps of someone descending quickly, but was unprepared for when Carver kicked the door open, a sword that was probably as tall as the country boy gripped tightly in both hands. The man flew backwards as Carver stepped out into the daylight and swung the sword up and around. It probably would've hit the other boy had the blonde not skittered back even further.

"Maker's breath, man, what are you doing?"

"Responding to the idiot who _threatened my brother._"

All the Hawkes were crazy. That was the only conclusion the Denerim native could draw as he leaped out of the way of another blow. He stumbled, hitting the dirt and rolling to see Carver standing over him, that sword raised as if to strike again. Peter squealed as the boy slammed his sword down, nearly wetting his pants when he turned his head and saw his own reflection in the blade lodged in the dirt beside him.

Peter breathed a shaky sigh and went to rise, only to be forced back into the dirt when Carver stepped on his chest, leaning into the hilt of his sword with a scowl.

"I'm sorry, this blade _is_ dreadfully hard to swing, I just need a moment to rest," the tone of the younger twin's voice was bittersweet and Peter was not fooled. "If you'd like to reconsider anything you've said in the past few minutes, I suppose now would be a good a time as any to do so."

"A-Ah, yes," Peter gulped, fumbling for words with a sword beside his face and a warrior on his chest.

"Allow me to help," Carver said slowly, "If I were you, I would start by retracting my previous statement about my brother." Peter nodded, opening his mouth to speak but not quite getting the chance to. "Because if, for whatever reason, he is dragged out of my home in chains, I will find you and express my _extreme_ discontent, and trust me: _it will not be pretty._"

Peter found himself digging his fingers into the dirt as Carver pressed more weight down on his chest. He wheezed, feeling his ribs tighten at the pressure.

"Secondly, I would probably be preparing to _grovel_ at Beth's feet for her forgiveness, and follow it up with a _sworn oath_ that she will not be hearing from you again."

The boy wanted to protest this, to point out that for the most part, she'd been on board with his advances, but the wiser part of him chided that correcting the man with a very large amount of force on his chest and a very large sword in his grip would be stupid. Incredibly so.

"And thirdly, just because I decided I really, really don't like you, you're gonna want to apologize to me for making me draw my blade this early in the morning and having me out in my drawers. Does that sound reasonable?"

He wanted to say no. He wished he'd the strength or the power or the skill to say no and not fear for his life immediately after. Alas, he was a farmer, not a warrior, and the wisest option for him was to nod quickly, relieved when the boy lifted his foot off his chest.

"Good, I'm glad we had this talk."

Carver pulled his blade out of the dirt and turned, unsurprised to see Bethany hovering by the door in her nightdress, looking to be both flattered and alarmed by her twin's reaction. He nodded to her and grumbled a greeting as he passed, dragging his sword behind him. She waited in place while Peter picked himself out of the ground, shaky and unstable as he approached the Hawke household a second time.

When he turned his fearful eyes up to Bethany, he was expecting anger. Instead, she looked down at him with a sympathetic smile, offering him her hand.

"Come on in," she said softly, "We'll get you something warm to drink."

The man cast a fearful look inside the house, half expecting a demon to come flying out from behind her – or worse, that warrior twin of hers. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see something, then gave a little laugh and stepped forward to take his hand in both of hers.

"I promise, I'll protect you from my brothers. They've had enough fun with you for one lifetime, I'm sure."

Peter could only supply a shaky nod before allowing the young woman to lead him inside. She guided him through the hall, smiling at how he checked each room and behind every door for a Hawke boy before relaxing. At her indication, he took a seat at the kitchen table and watched as the girl went about making him a tea.

"I'm sorry about Garrett and Carver, they're just...protective...and considering how things happened last night...they-"

"Now wait a second," Peter cut her off. He sure as hell wasn't about to stand up to an angry mage any more than he was going to face down a great sword-weilding warrior, but this girl he _could_ stand up to. "You were enjoying it, you said yourself you could have stopped at anytime, but you didn't!"

"Well, yes, but I-"

"I was _attacked_, not once, but twice, by your batshit crazy brothers!"

They're just-"

"I could've been _killed _by your mage-brother, or by that sword-swinging maniac, and you're saying it's all my fault?" He threw up his hands in exasperation, then fixed the girl with a hard glare. "After all this, you _owe_ me, Bethany."

Bethany stared, wide-eyed, at the young man for quite some time. He kept on glaring at her from the table with his fists clenched against his knees. As the meaning behind his words sunk in, her face fell. She narrowed her eyes, her jaw setting in place as she frowned.

"Get out," she breathed.

Peter was caught between arguing his case and leaving – before he attracted the attention of her brothers. He sat stone still and returned her glare with a stubborn look of his own. She advanced on him, fists clenched at her sides.

"I said, _get out_."

Peter rose, finding solid ground for the first time in what felt like hours. He'd been pushed around by the eldest Hawke, and then this morning by the youngest, but Maker damn him if he let himself be pushed around by a _woman_.

"No." Peter was half in disbelief at the word when it left his mouth, some part of him cringing in wait for a Hawke boy to come leaping out of the shadows. When none did, he advanced, grabbing one of the wrists Bethany lifted in her defence. "You _owe_ me for what _you_ put me through. I'm not leaving until I get payment."

Bethany watched the man with the fearful eyes lick his lip and check over his shoulder nervously when what he should have been afraid of was standing right in front of him. She looked to his hand, which gripped her wrist so tightly it was bruising.

"Let me go," she said evenly, lifting her other hand – likely to strike him. Instead, he grabbed her other wrist and held firm. "Last warning, let me go."

"Or what?" These words were half a challenge, half a demand. "You'll call your brothers?"

Bethany didn't dignify that with a response beyond letting a sudden, intense flame consume her hands. The young man shrieked, releasing her and stumbling back – tripping over his chair. His hands were red from the sudden heat of her flesh. They would likely be burned later.

"You wanted payment?" Bethany brought her hands in front of her, a spinning ball of flame forming between her palms.

"Mage...A-Apostate!" Peter sputtered, pointing accusingly at her. "_Witch!"_

The girl hardly flinched at the names, advancing as the young man scrambled to his feet. She had a fireball hovering in both hands, just waiting to be launched. Peter darted around her, sprinting down the hall and out the door. He hesitated, turning his head as he dashed out the house to see Garrett Hawke leaning against the wall beside their front door, arms folded across his chest with a big grin directed skyward.

Peter flinched away from the man, just about falling off the front step.

"I seem to recall something about...forgetting last night? Was that just me, or do you remember something like that, too?"

The boy didn't hang around, he found his feet and sprinted from the house as if all of the void were on his heels, threatening to swallow him up and taint him.

* * *

Lothering was quiet for the next few days, offering nothing of excitement for its inhabitants.

That worked out just fine for the Hawkes, who enjoyed a few days of peace. The only noteworthy piece of news to pass through their door was that just outside of town, one of the farmers had a wife who was expecting and needed a new farmhand.

Rumor was the old one packed up and went home to Denerim.

* * *

**Please review, it's all I ask.**

**Shmee**


	10. Joker

"Carver, no, this is foolish, they don't need you. Stay here, with your family. _We _need you."

But Carver was deaf to his mother's pleas as he tore about his room, collecting the most essential of his belongings and throwing them into a sack that sat open on his bed. Leandra Hawke was behind him with each step: getting in his way, grabbing for his arm and giving light tugs. He would tear his arm from her grip and brush past her, his jaw set firm – much like Malcolm's would when he'd set his mind on something.

The memory of her late husband did nothing to help stop the tears.

"They can win without you, Carver. Stay here, with us, where it's safe."

Carver paused, straightening out over his bag as if he were reconsidering. Leandra's mouth clamped shut, eager to let him speak – to assure her that this was some ill-mannered prank of his. After a moment's pause, he turned, crossed his room and grabbed a leather belt from his closet, bunching it up to be packed with everything else.

"Carver, please, think of Bethany! What will she do without you?"

"She's got another brother," the youth growled, drawing his bag shut. The rope squealed with the speed and friction of the pull. "She'll manage."

"That's not what I meant! You're leaving behind your family, Carver!"

"No, Mother. I've made up my mind."

The youngest Hawke was already marching out his room, his mother on his heels, her pleas relentless.

"But what would your father think? You know you have to protect your sister as he did – and Garrett, too. You _know_ what can happen to solitary mages!"

"They're both old enough and strong enough to keep after themselves, Mother. I'm not staying, I'm needed elsewhere."

"Please," Leandra threw her arms around her boy, pulling him close as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She pressed her forehead into his back, feeling the muscles there. Her boy wasn't a child any more – he was full grown, well built and a powerful warrior - anyone could see that. But he was still her little boy, still her youngest – still her baby. She couldn't let him go. Not like this.

"No, mother," he repeated, "King Cailan can't defeat a Blight by himself. He needs an army."

"But must _you_ be a part of it?"

Carver frowned, answering her question without words. He shrugged the woman off and turned for the door, blocked only by his twin.

Bethany wanted to stop him. How she _longed_ for the ability to stop him. Physically, the matter was out of the question. She was half his size and a little over a head shorter. She didn't have the strength to keep him anywhere once he'd set his mind to moving – they'd proved it once in a playful scuffle, where she'd tried to dissuade him from leaving for training with a cold. She'd latched onto him, and he'd simply carried her halfway across the village before she admitted defeat. And she would never be able to turn her magic on her twin, no matter how much she wished to.

The thought was sour, but she was powerless against her non-magical sibling.

"Bethany," Carver's tone was warning, for years of growing up at her side gave him the ability to read what she was thinking by the subtle clues in her body language. The sadness in her eyes, the stiffness of her spine, the way her lip quivered – she wasn't even trying to hide her worry.

"I know," she breathed. "Maker, I know." She leaned forward, stopping only when her head hit his chest. Her arms snaked up to hold him tight. There was nothing restricting about the hold, nothing overbearing or protective. It was something she _knew_ her brother wouldn't break away from. In fact, he let his pouch hit the floor to return the embrace.

He clung to his sister tightly, knowing that it was all she wanted. He shut his eyes and breathed deep, taking in the smell of home and letting his determined shell crack just slightly with a sad smile. Carver waited, as patient as he had ever been, for his sister to release him slowly, holding only to his arms. Bethany looked up to her twin with a pleading look in her wide eyes.

"You should tell him," she said quietly. "He'll be home soon, it'll just be a short wait-"

That hardened frown was back, and Bethany only lowered her head in defeat, speaking no further of the matter in fear of ruining her moment with her brother.

_Her last,_ a dark thought insisted and she almost began to cry, holding in her tears only because she knew her brother hated seeing them.

The young man picked his bag off the floor, leaving his mother and sister to find comfort in each others' embraces. Carver pulled on his boots at the door, pausing with his hand on the knob only long enough to look back to the most important ladies in his life. He smiled – a hopeful expression.

"I love you, Mum," he said, his words sending Leandra into another fit of tears. His sister gushed with hushed comforts as she held the ageing woman. "Beth," Carver continued, nodding to his twin. He didn't need to repeat the phrase. She knew. She always had.

Carver tightened his grip and opened the door, turning right into a powerful punch that knocked him back on his arse.

"Love you too, Carver."

Garrett stood over the prone form of his little brother, looking down his nose with an expression that might have been disgust – Carver was more focused on the throbbing of his jaw to accurately place the look. The mage shook out his hand, and as Carver struggled to reorient himself, the eldest Hawke continued.

"I get it. You want out. But don't lie to yourself and everyone here exactly _why_ you're doing it."

"Garrett-" Leandra began, though she was really unsure what to say to stop this exchange from happening. It seemed inevitable, which is why she so readily held her tongue when her eldest lifted a hand to silence her. His eyes – the eyes of his father – glared down to the youngest Hawke, his attention never once wavering.

"You ass, this is completely pointless. You can't stop me, not now."

"I'm not _trying _to stop you, idiot. I haven't yet, have it?"

"You-"

"I knew all along what you were planning to do. The two of you gossip with less subtlety than a pair of ogres, which I'm sure you'll see plenty of in Ostagar. Say hello for me." Despite the quip and the familiar lift of his tone, Garrett did not look amused. Carver felt himself pinned under that stare, hesitant to get up lest he be set on fire for trying.

"So then what are you doing?" Carver gestured to himself indignantly, "and what was that for?"

"First, for leaving with the thought that you _could_ hide it from me, as I _am_ all knowing." No one was quite sure what to think of the eldest Hawke. His jokes and sarcasm were so hard-wired into his speech patterns that even now, when angry enough to set the atmosphere alive with static, they remained with him. "Second, for letting _them_-" he gestured to where Bethany and their mother stood together "-believe you're doing this for the _greater good, _for some _other_ reason than you're a right _selfish bastard._"

Carver grit his teeth.

"You have no right to assume-"

"I'm _assuming_ nothing. I _know _you, baby brother, whether you like it or not."

Carver bristled at the pet name. He hated when Garrett used his age as a superiority card – and the man knew it, which was precisely why he did. Being called "little brother" was bad enough, but to throw the "baby" in instead was always an insult. He _wasn't_ a baby, and no one outside of the three present would think to call him _little_.

"Why are you leaving?" Garrett demanded. Carver had his response ready.

"To fight in the war."

"And?"

"And what? There is no 'And'!"

"Bullshit, you can't lie to me. I can see right through you, you never were quite _sharp_ enough to pull off a good lie."

The younger Hawke only got angrier.

"There is no lie!"

Garrett's frown was disbelieving, but the intensity had died away and Carver now felt free to rise within relative safety.

"You expect me to believe _you _are running off to fight the good fight because you _feel like it?_"

"No! They need soldiers!" Carver now had the opportunity to use a line he'd been holding onto for years – waiting for just the right moment to turn it around on his brother and make it _sing_ in the midst of their arguments. "Pardon me for thinking the world revolves around more than just _us_."

Garrett's eyes widened at the memory those words dug up, then narrowed when the shock wore off. Carver squared his shoulders and advanced, entertaining the idea of marching right through his brother – he had the advantage of size, he could do it.

But then Garrett did something unexpected. The staff that had been strapped to his back was suddenly in his grasp, spinning a full circle before the man gripped the shaft with both hands and cracked the butt of the weapon against the ground. The staff lit up with fire – intense, violent flames that broke off the weapon in wisps and circled the mage who commanded them. The heat and light cast Garrett with an orange glow, his hair and clothes gently swaying upwards with the hot air.

Carver stopped where he was, instinctively reaching for a weapon he didn't have – his sword was in the shed, the last stop Carver had intended to make in Lothering.

"Garrett!" Bethany now jumped forward, her hands sparking with electricity. _Never_ had a Hawke turned their magic on family with such hostility, the elder twin felt compelled to react, to defend the victim from the member who'd broken the family code. But really, in a contest of magic she would not emerge victorious. She just felt she could no longer stand and watch this exchange become deadly.

She was, to her annoyance, ignored. This was an exchange between brothers. Even to Carver, she had no place here.

"Fine!" Carver yelled, throwing his arms up in exasperation, "You want the truth, brother? I'm leaving to get away from _you_!"

Garrett smirked, the expression of confidence only egging on his younger brother.

"I can't _stand_ being stuck behind you any longer! I have no desire to live my life out in your shadow!" Bethany backed off at her brother's angry confession, the lightning dying as quickly as it had come alive. "You – _you_, father's protoge, his shining star, his greatest achievement – you just keep growing! You thrive with your magics as you always have while I've lived my life being told left and right that _you're_ filled to the brim with _gifts_, with _talent_, that _you_ are going to be someone _great._ Meanwhile, I'm left behind with nothing more to my name than a beaten up sword and no greater an accomplishment than being able to swing it!"

Carver advanced on his brother, whose flames kept him from approaching too close. He stopped only when any further steps would see him burned.

"The army is something for _me_, where I can make a name for myself without having to listen to everyone gush about how positively _wonderful_ you are. _I_ can be someone out there, _I _can be the one who is _great_ for a change! I can have talent and power and everything you've grown up _showered _with. What's more, It's somewhere _you_ cannot follow me, for to everyone outside of this house – outside of this little backwater village – for all your power, you are only a _filthy Apostate!"_

Carver seethed in the silence that followed his outburst, a silence that settled over the house like a blanket of soot, the metaphor solidified when the flames surrounding his brother suddenly receded back into the staff. Garrett had gotten what he wanted out of his youngest sibling, but he did not look happy.

All things considered, he didn't look all that angry, either – or hurt, or saddened.

He simply stood with an expression that was more or less blank, were it not for the slight upward tug of the corners of his lips, as if he were trying to smile but not quite committed to it.

Carver was panting, his throat tight with the strain of holding in tears. Being forced to open all of his harboured wounds in front of his entire family was humiliating, he wanted to burn on the spot, wishing to the Maker his brother would restart his fires and consume him in them. He _knew_ Bethany had finally found reason to cry behind him. He could not see it, but she'd covered her mouth to hold in her shock, her eyes spilling over with tears at his insults.

They'd been meant for Garrett alone, but there was nothing in his rant that he couldn't turn around and throw right back at Bethany – and she knew it. Leandra, faced with something she _was_ familiar with, had finally found solid emotional ground. Her lips were pulled into a thin line, her eyes red from crying. She had always known her youngest harboured such feelings and often blamed herself for them – were it not for her personal non-magical genes, perhaps Carver would have shared his sibling's abilities. Or maybe, had they been stronger, they _all _could had lived a relatively _normal, _non-magical life.

She didn't think his loathing had gone so deep – had grown so strong. But, considering how long he'd been harbouring it within himself, nourishing it with jealousy and loneliness, her lingering thoughts only questioned how the boy had clung to them for so long without release.

Something about Garrett's expression told the woman her eldest had asked himself the same thing long before this conversation had started. He'd known what he was doing that entire time – getting everything out in the open before Carver went off to war, even if he didn't realize it.

But it seemed Carver did grasp some of his brother's underlying intentions. He caught his breath, recovering from the dizziness his rage had washed over him, and back pedalled to retrieve his bag from the floor. His eyes caught Bethany's before he turned again, and no amount of apologetic looks could immediately heal the hurts he'd inflicted. He bowed his head in shame and said nothing, turning instead back to his brother, who now leaned on his staff, the side of his head resting on the shaft.

"I meant what I said," he said softly. "I wasn't intending to stop you."

Carver took a moment to find his voice. When he did, it was quiet.

"I know."

"Come back home, will you?" Garrett pushed himself upright with his staff and stepped aside, finally opening the doorway again and offering his little brother the escape he longed for.

But with everything so suddenly out in the open, Carver wasn't sure he could lie again just yet. Perhaps this too was something Garrett had been hoping for.

"Maybe some day," Carver said. He paused just outside his family home, Garrett in the space immediately to his left. "For what it's worth, I agree with them. I may have hated hearing it all my life, but they're not wrong." The youth lowered his voice to something only his brother would hear. "You're marvels, both of you."

Finally, Garrett found the strength to smile. He didn't reach out to hug his brother, he knew Carver wasn't quite ready for that closeness so soon. The young man respected his kin's space, waiting as the boy collected his final thoughts.

"You'll watch over them, yeah?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, of course...You don't need me, you never have."

Carver kicked himself mentally as the venom returned to his voice unintentionally, the wounds he'd recently opened obviously not as quick to close. But if Garrett took offence, it didn't show. That peaceable smile remained in place.

He was used to him, after all.

"We did. We do. We always will. You'll see it." Carver shook his head, prompting his brother to add quietly, "maybe some day."

The two exchanged a look, saying much more to one another than words could ever hope to summarize. Shifting the weight of his bag over his back, the youth cleared his throat and nodded, hesitating before taking that first step down the path, a step that was quickly followed with another, his feet carrying him away from the crumbling atmosphere of his family home.

He never bothered to retrieve his sword.

* * *

**Can I be honest with you?**

**I'd almost given up on this story. For all the views it got, I saw hardly any comments. Then, after receiving a couple out of the blue and reflecting on those wonderful few people who did leave a review, I decided to stick it out to the end. That being said, I'll ask again:**

**Please review. If you like the story, and want it to continue, tell me so. If you did not, tell me why. Even if you are averse to typing out much of a comment, I'll take even a word or two - just so I know I'm not writing to an audience of five. Reviews keep me going, as I'm sure they do all of you on your projects.**

**I will respond to ALL reviews in the next chapter, as a thank you for the time you took to comment.**

**Thanks so much for reading, please leave feedback - no matter how brief.**

**See you again soon,**

**Shmee**


	11. Knowing

News of Ostagar reached the Hawkes through a breathless soldier fleeing for the Coast. He'd barely paused enough to share the news of the betrayal with Garrett, who'd walked with him as he trudged for the gate out of town.

"Are there more like you? More coming through this way?" He'd asked, keeping in step with the brisk-walking soldier.

"Of course, there's probably dozens of us. Most of us scattered when things went south. You might want to get out, this place will be run down within days, mark me."

These words, no matter how bitterly spoken, filled Garrett with hope. He let the man carry on his way, turning back to the southern paths into town and back in the direction of where his sister stood at the side of the road, worrying her staff between her hands as she watched villagers scramble for their homes or for their families, looking to flee.

As her brother approached, her expression turned hopeful.

"I'm sure he's on the way," he said, "the man said there were more like him coming."

Bethany tried to step around her brother, to start down the path that would, with luck, end at her twin. She gave a cry of protest when Garrett's arm came out to stop her, instead pulling her back in the direction of home.

"If we start towards Ostagar, we'll head him off before he gets here!" she protested, tugging halfheartedly against the grip of her brother's hand around her wrist. He shook his head, refusing to stop or turn around.

"If he's coming, it'd be best he know where he can find us. Besides, you could get lost or hurt or worse out in this crowd, and I don't want to be the one to explain to Carver why you weren't waiting for him with open arms, hugs and perhaps a glass of warm milk."

Bethany pouted, but could draw up no words to complain with. She fell in step with her elder sibling, hurrying back to their home with new found purpose. When they came through the door, dusty and flushed from being caught up in the panic of the village, their mother was on them in a heartbeat.

"Is he here? Did you hear any news?" The woman searched the faces of her children for an answer.

"He's coming," said Garrett, with a certainty that was difficult to question. "You'd best grab your things, mother. We're leaving when he gets here."

Leandra pressed her lips into a line and gave a curt nod, lifting her skirts and jogging up the stairs. Garrett wasted no time, striding through the kitchen to the back, bringing his fingers to his mouth and giving a shrill whistle, the sound echoing over the back fields. Atticus's large head perked up from within the tall grass. He gave a bark, the barley parting for him as he rushed to respond to the call. He burst out into the yard, bounded across the open space and came to a halt in front of the eldest Hawke, planting his rear into the dirt and sitting obediently.

"Good boy," Garrett cooed, coming down to scratch affectionately at the Mabari's chin. He didn't stoop far, as the dog had grown to quite the formidable size, tight muscles rippling under a healthy coat. "Are you ready to tear apart some Darkspawn?"

Atticus gave a bark and stood, wagging his rump joyously. He was on his master's heel when he turned to go back inside. The pair crossed back to the foyer, where a wave of Garrett's hand prompted the dog to lie down on the rug. Bethany sat on the stairs, spinning her staff on its bottom, worrying her lip between her teeth.

Garrett leaned himself against the wall to wait, his heart pounding away in his chest despite his relaxed appearance. He was worried, no matter how he looked to the rest of the world. He was worried for his brother, who – for all they knew – could have fallen at Ostagar. If he hadn't, how long could they afford to wait? He knew that perhaps, if necessary, he and Bethany could hold their ground for long enough to get an answer, but they couldn't risk their mother like that. They had to get her out, for she had no magic to hide behind, no sword to fight with.

Just as the man began to consider moving the family to the outskirts of Lothering to wait, there was a pounding at the door. Atticus lifted his head and whined, Bethany flinching at the harshness of the noise. Garrett, cautious that the intruder was not friendly – or _human_ – was slow to answer. His left hand was alight with magic as he pulled open the door with his right, but he was unprepared for the fist that connected solidly with his jaw as soon as there was space enough to allow it.

"_That's_ for punching me when I left."

Carver helped his dazed brother back to his feet, only to have him shoved out of the way by Bethany, who flew at her twin with a sob.

"You're okay!" Carver enveloped his sister in his arms, muffling her cry with his torso. "We were so worried!"

"I can take care of myself, Beth, you had nothing to worry about."

Garrett rubbed at his jaw as his younger siblings spoke, turning his attention to the stairs when their mother came flying down them, not waiting for her children to separate – she threw her arms around them both.

The eldest Hawke held back, keeping away from this embrace. He eyed Carver carefully, studying the boy carefully for the first time in months. He'd filled out more since leaving, his arms well defined with muscle – muscle that came no doubt from swinging around the massive greatsword strapped to the lad's back. He was a little battered, bruises littering his exposed flesh here and there, but otherwise he seemed to be well.

But still, Garrett did not step forward to take part in this family embrace. He could still feel a rift in place between himself and his younger brother, a wound the mage had torn open during their last meeting. It was obvious by the stiff look he'd received from his kin and the sheer force behind his punch that the rift had yet to close.

"Right, we'll have to reschedule this pow-wow for a time involving less inbound dark-spawn," cut in the eldest, clapping a hand on his brother's firm shoulder. The Hawkes broke apart, Leandra wiping away tears and Bethany grinning ear to ear.

"Well, we're all together," said the middle Hawke with such typical optimism. "We'll definitely get through this now."

It was then that there was a blood curdling shriek from down the road, though no one could be all that sure what the cry belonged to. Garrett was not eager to find out. He whistled and Atticus bounded through the open door, barking as if heralding a parade. The twins followed the Mabari, their mother behind them with a small pack of things tucked under her arm. Garrett brought up the rear, shutting the door behind them out of habit and following his family out into the road.

There were inhuman noises from down the path, coming from a swarm of creatures that rushed towards the village of lowering with their jaws wide and their weapons raised. Unprotected and unenforced, the dark army descended upon Lothering with chilling howls. Buildings went up in flames in their wake, chasing families from their homes and out into the streets.

Screams that _were_ human began to join the snarls of the Darkspawn, but Garrett did not linger to see more. He turned and took off after his family, Carver leading the way up the path with his mother's wrist in his grasp.

* * *

They didn't get far out of Lothering before they ran into their first Darkspawn attack force. It was a small fleet of minor Hurlocks, marked with the blood of those they'd already killed. They came bursting out from the shade of the trees, rushing for the Hawke family they had startled with their sudden appearance.

Bethany was the first to react, turning towards the oncoming attackers and launching a ball of flame at the foremost Grunt. Garrett followed her attack with his own torrent of fire, burning two more. The Hurlock broke their formation at the strike, snarling as they scattered away from the flames.

"Let's go!" called Carver, who'd pulled their mother out of harm's way and further up the path. The mages hesitated, exchanging a look with one another before going to follow, ignoring the angered shrieks of the tainted behind them. They weren't expecting another party to be lying in wait just over the hill and found themselves running headlong into an ambush.

Carver met the group of Darkspawn with an impressive war cry, using his sword to cleave the first of the tainted to reach them clear in half, before stabbing his blade through the gut of another. Bethany was at her brother's side in a heartbeat, fire in her hands as she launched blast after blast of flame from her staff at those who sought to break past her twin's onslaught. Garrett stood with his back to them, single-handedly pushing back the group of Hurlock they'd initially been fleeing from. He would stop any that got too close with a wave of freezing air, then burn those trapped behind the intimidating spires of ice. Any that broke through this defence were bashed into pulp by the mace-end of his staff.

The Hawke siblings were an impressive force united, but not without error. One Hemlock rushed them from the side, flinging itself at Leandra with a snarl.

The woman turned to meet the onslaught with the dignity of a noble in battle. She pulled back her bag and clubbed her attacker over the head with it. However, her belongings did not quite have the weight to do much damage beyond angering the thing further. It tore her makeshift weapon from her hands and threw it over his head with a shriek. Leandra backed away, fearful for only a moment before the thing erupted into flame, Garrett having turned long enough to set the thing ablaze with a swing of his staff before his attention was drawn back to covering their rear.

When a path through the onslaught was opened, Carver yelled to his family. Bethany grabbed their mother by the wrist and followed his charge, aware Garrett was behind them only by the sound of his voice.

"Hope there was nothing of value in there, mother. I think your friends have grown attached to it!" None of the Hawkes turned back to see what the eldest child was laughing about, too concerned with the act of pushing _forward_ to dare look at what they left behind.

* * *

It was a long time before the Hawkes stopped running. Even their approach to the ship in Gwaren was rushed, due to the fact that it was _leaving_ the harbour when the family reached it. Carver crossed first, hopping the small space between the dock and the ship before turning to extend his hand to their mother. Leandra had to leap farther, but her son was there to draw her in his arms when she nearly lost her balance and Atticus crossed with little difficulty, turning to face the remaining two once he was safely aboard.

Garrett and Aveline had fallen behind – the woman was doing the best to dash madly with a limp – but seemed to propel herself from the dock with enough force to roll onto the deck. Once the warrior had cleared the leap, Garrett was the only one remaining. He launched himself from the dock, only barely catching the side of the ship. He slammed into the broadside of the boat, crying out in pain and holding to the ledge despite the jarring of his muscles. Carver was there in the moments following, dragging his brother aboard with all his strength, worn out from fatigue but persevering none the less.

When they were all relatively safe and sound aboard, they collapsed on the deck. Garrett rolled onto his back and panted at the sky, Carver hitting his knees and burying his head in his hands, gripping his hair tightly in his fingers. Aveline fell back onto her rear, Atticus at her side and sniffing the ugly looking bump on the side of her knee under her leggings. Leandra was already on all fours, her tears resurfacing now that they were safe.

Safe, but incomplete.

"Bethany," she moaned, pressing her forehead into the wood. "Bethany, oh my poor, sweet girl...my baby girl..."

No one quite knew what to say, nor how to react. Neither of the Hawke boys moved, and Aveline was left to her own grief with only the comfort of Atticus's warm body pressed into her leg. It wasn't long before one of the crew approached their newest bunch of refugees with a solemn look.

"Best you lot get below deck," he rumbled, uncomfortable with the broken looks he kept seeing on every face aboard his ship. "The seas will get rough, we're keeping the refugees down there and out of the way. We need the deck to work."

The eldest Hawke child was the first to force himself to his feet, he and his brother gradually helping the rest of their party back up before they were herded below decks by the crew. They settled themselves by a wooden support, daylight filtering down onto the weary bodies through a grate on the floor above them.

It was there that the exhausted little band of refugees finally broke down, surrounded by others who added to their suffering with pained cries of their own.

Garrett leaned against the post, his head falling back and his hands coming to his face. He shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth as he pushed his palms through his hair and pressed them firmly to the top of his skull. His brother sat beside him, drawing his knees in close to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He slowly lowered his head, hiding everything but his eyes behind his forearms. The eyes he shared with his mother stared blankly ahead, his expression betraying nothing of the inner turmoil he was battling.

Leandra curled up at her sons' feet, breaking down into sobs as she buried her face in her hands. All she could see was her little girl, her baby, in the arms of that beast as it crushed and smashed and smashed and crushed, bleeding the life out of her only daughter. Again and again she watched the scene play behind her eyelids, watched the girl who'd barely entered womanhood stand up to the giant so bravely – protecting her mother to the end.

She watched as her daughter's flames did nothing to the ogre, watched as it broke the girl's body and tossed her aside like nothing. She watched her boys kick into a rage, Carver charging the thing blinded by tears and fuelled by fury while Garrett summoned flames to support his kin's charge.

She watched as the thing endured the hits and heat, finally getting enough of a bearing to swat aside her youngest and she felt her heart seize up again as it did then – praying to the Maker he would not allow a repeat performance on her youngest child.

Through tears, she relived the moment when Garrett advanced on the thing, now commanding himself with a cool composure that hid his blinding fury. He tore a doorway into the fade, reaching inside with both hands to grip at the very _soul_ of the Ogre. As he ripped the life force of the creature clear in two, ethereal hands repeated the performance on the plane of reality, tearing that damned ogre into bloody halves.

Nothing had improved from then.

They couldn't even grieve for their lost little girl, the danger too great and too persistent. Even when the Maker delivered to them a protector, he took another from their midst.

Aveline had removed her shield from her back, sitting on Hawke's opposite side as she propped the Templar armour in front of her. She could see herself reflecting in the metal and slowly she leaned forward until her forehead touched the smooth surface of the shield. She drew in a long breath, one that shook with suppressed tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the shield. "I failed you, love. I failed you."

Her words, though spoken only to the spirit of one man, resonated with the remaining Hawke family. Carver's blank stare finally glazed over with tears. Leandra sobbed again, shaking with the force of her grief. Garrett lowered his head, hiding his face behind his hands, while his shoulders tensed and betrayed the true nature of his suffering.

* * *

It was some time before any of the refugees mustered the strength or courage to move about the galley, but with time, life seeped into the underbelly of the ship, prompting the survivors to move, to stretch their legs, to eat and talk.

Someone had produced a deck of cards and by means that were probably underhanded, they ended up in the possession of the eldest Hawke.

No one really complained, knowing that the cards would probably circulate again when Garrett grew tired of them, and for a while it helped to distract the beaten little party of Fereldans. Aveline and Garrett were involved in a game where they bet nothing but promises while Carver looked on with an uninterested expression.

"Where did you learn to play, Hawke?" asked Aveline, looking to fill the silence with conversation.

"On the hooliganism bandwagon," said Garrett, earning a sideways glare from Carver for stirring up old memories. He didn't want to think on happier times. He didn't want to think at all. He was content just watching his brother play Diamondback, but not focusing on the cards.

"I'm serious. I'm only trying to get to know you."

"And I am also being serious," said Hawke behind his cards. "I learned in the less amiable places of Lothering. The place where all the best shenanigans happen."

"The best shenanigans?" echoed Aveline, only half-studying her opponent's play. "Don't tell me you were a troublesome child, Hawke. I won't believe you."

"O-ho? Is that sarcasm I hear in your voice, Aveline? Maker forgive me, I might be contagious."

Aveline gave him a glare, earning only a bright smile in response. Carver, sick of hearing his brother's voice, made a noise of disgust and rose, turning away from the game and going to deposit himself in a quiet corner. The players watched him go, Aveline looking concerned, while Garrett made a strange face at his brother's back.

"Oh please," Aveline swatted at the elder Hawke with her cards. "What's that face for?"

"My brother," said Hawke flatly, "but the little jerk isn't paying any attention."

"You may not, but the boy needs time to grieve. Leave him be." Aveline tried to focus on the game again, but honestly she'd forgotten what they were playing. She lowered her cards with a sigh, then threw them face-down on the deck. "I fold. I was never any good at these games." She looked back to Hawke, who was watching his brother settle into a corner with an unreadable expression. "Hey," she said.

"I know."

"What?"

"I know he's grieving," he said, turning his attention to his cards. One by one, he threw them onto the deck. "But problem is, he's terrible at it. He gets angry and starts overturning breakable things. I'm concerned for the ship."

"Hawke, please."

"He'll capsize the whole thing in a fit." Aveline was not impressed by Garrett's wit, but by then, he was used to that reaction. "I know my brother, Aveline, and I mean it when I say he doesn't know how to grieve. He keeps things bottled up and then...explodes."

"People deal differently, Hawke, it's a fact of life."

"I'm not arguing _that_, I'm just concerned. There isn't a lot of space to blow off steam on board a small ship like this, and no doubt he's just itching to crack some heads." Aveline watched Hawke as he spoke, finally understanding what the mage was getting at and humbled by the surprising display of insight. "He's going to drive himself mad in here before we even get to Kirkwall. He'll blow before he has the space or the people around him who can tolerate it and get himself in a heap of trouble he may not be equipped to deal with."

Garrett picked up the cards and shuffled them, no doubt just looking to keep his hands busy.

"And here I thought _you_ were the irresponsible one, Hawke."

"Oh I am. I'm concerned he'll let the whole crew onto the well-kept secret that I was the one who strung up their knickers in the sails."

"That was you?"

"...Not if you don't approve."

Aveline frowned at the man, his charming smile wasted on her iron sense of justice. She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes in disapproval, her head tilting slightly to one side. It was an expression Garrett made a point to remember, as he was sure he'd be seeing a lot of it.

"Hawke."

"What? _I'm_ feeling cooped up! Be grateful I'm not the type to start setting fire to things as a coping mechanism."

"I'm still not convinced that you aren't."

Another wasted smile.

* * *

When Garrett was able to escape Aveline's interrogation as to how he pulled off such a feat without her taking notice, he used the time to join his brother, who hadn't moved from where he sat scowling in a corner.

"With enough focus and a helping more of _that_ attitude, I'm sure you could conjure up your very own personal thundercloud," said Garrett as he sat down beside his sibling. Carver lifted his head and gave him an exasperated look.

"Don't you have someone else you could be bothering?"

"I do, yes, but Aveline knows too much as it is. I have to keep a low profile for a while...and a hand on my knickers."

"What?"

"Never you mind. When are you going to be done brooding?"

Carver gave his elder brother a look of disgust, using all of his self control to resist punching the man right across the face.

"Our _sister_ is _dead_, Garrett. Don't you care?"

"Of course I do." The lad was a little caught off-guard by the completely serious tone of his elder brother, but took only a moment to realize he was foolish to think Garrett was truly unaffected by it. "But trying to drill a hole through the side of the ship with my glare won't solve anything. It might, however, sink us all."

"Well I'm sorry that not all of us can grin and bear _everything _like the great Garrett Hawke," hissed Carver, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin on the top of his wrist.

"I know. It's a right shame, isn't it?"

The boy clenched his fists tightly, gripping onto his shirt to stop his blunt nails from digging into his flesh.

"You know, had you been just a little closer to mother, _you_ would've been the one between her and the Ogre."

For whatever reason, that remark stung, the pain digging deep. Carver grit his teeth and said nothing, turning away from his brother to hide the way his eyes were glazing over and his sight became blurry with tears.

"I wonder what Bethany was thinking before she went. Do you suppose she was hoping for an apology?"

At this, Carver went cold.

"_What?_"

"For everything you said before you skipped off to war. You know, the whole _'filthy apostate'_ business. I'm not sure you were aware, but Bethany was also an apostate, and also quite offended."

"I was aware," he hissed.

"Did you ever apologize?"

Finally, Carver whirled on his kin, aiming to smash his elbow into the man's jaw. Garrett seemed to be expecting this and was already in the process of rising to his feet and stumbling out of the way. With a growl, Carver rose and flung himself at his brother, bringing Garrett back to the ground in a full-body tackle.

The elder Hawke cried out as his head smacked back against the wood, but Carver was deaf to it as he settled his weight on his brother's waist, pressing his hands down into his brother's shoulders with as much force as he could muster. He perched atop his brother like that, struggling to breathe evenly as he felt dizzy with anger.

Some of the refugees who had been nearby when Carver suddenly attacked skittered away at the commotion, only to swarm right back when they realized it was a personal fight. The nosy onlookers were shoved aside by Aveline when she pushed her way to the front, greeted by the sight of the brothers on the floor, Carver still perched atop Garrett, still pressing him into the wood without a word.

People began to get antsy when nothing was happening, so Aveline shooed them away, turning her attention back to the troublesome Hawkes with a long sigh. She was about to speak, until she caught Garrett's eye, who was casting her a sidelong glance and carefully maintaining his expression. She caught her tongue before it wagged out of place, backing away slightly – mindful to keep close in case Carver suddenly turned aggressive again.

But Carver was stiff, pinning his brother into the ship and struggling to get a hold of what he was feeling. His confusion was crippling, and Garrett felt it in the way the pressure eased on his chest.

"She did," he said quietly, and Carver's eyes snapped to his. "She was hoping for an apology." Garrett tried not to wheeze as the pressure continued. "But she _had_ forgiven you."

At this, Carver reared back slightly, feeling his brother's chest expand beneath his hands as he breathed in a long gulp of air.

"What?"

"She forgave you for what happened. One-hundred percent."

"But...then...why...why did you say...?"

"Because, if you'd apologized, it would mean you'd forgiven yourself." Carver's breath left him in an instant and he felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. Garrett carried on, pretending not to notice his brother's sudden weakness. "It's crazy, I know. If it were me, I would've just cried my eyes out until you felt bad, but she's always been the bigger person, between you and I."

Carver was still for a few more seconds, before he fell off his brother and sat back, his eyes wide. As he came to terms with how much _better_ his sister had always handled herself than either of them, those eyes welled with tears. He lowered his head to hide them behind his hair, lifting his hands to palm them away before they came too embarrassing.

"I know it doesn't mean much now, and certainly not coming from me, but we both thought of it as a necessary evil. You were forgiven even before you'd left."

Carver nodded, gripping his knees tightly in his hands, lowering himself further to the ground as if he'd an ache in his stomach. Slowly, Garrett picked himself off the floor, clapping his brother on the shoulder one last time before rising to his feet. "If you need me," he said, "I'm not hard to find. It's a small ship."

With that, Garrett left his little brother to his thoughts, retreating back to the wooden support the Hawkes had claimed as their own, where their mother dozed in the pale light of the moon outside. Aveline was against the post, waiting for Hawke to return with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"You could try _not_ causing such a scene when you solve your problems," she suggested as Hawke settled himself beside her, reclining against that post as if it were the most comfortable seat on the ship.

"I could, yes, but drab and quiet is just so _boring_."

This time, when Hawke directed his cheery smile at her, she felt herself driven to return it. She patted the man on the knee, nodding in understanding as she settled back and shut her eyes, letting out a long breath through her nose. Beside her, she heard Hawke unwinding in a similar fashion. They would be in Kirkwall the following morning, it was best to seize the opportunity for sleep now. They could pick each others brains on the matter at a later time.

* * *

At some point in the night, Carver returned to his brother's side, failing to do so without waking up the eldest Hawke child. In a sleepy, wired state of mind, Garrett wasn't instantly aware of who it was settling into his brother's place beside him and he jerked ungracefully awake, wide eyes turning to Carver and staring in confusion for only a few short seconds.

Carver returned the look, pressed his lips together and gave a small nod.

Garrett smiled, his brain finally catching up with his body. Without a word, he settled back against the post and listened as his brother did the same, able to stay awake for as long as it took for Carver to drift off before the elder Hawke did too.

* * *

**The end is nigh.  
Nyuknyuk.**

**DarkAbyss1 - Thank you! I definitely don't intend to stop now, but reviews encourage me to get it done faster, y'know? Regardless, I really appreciate your support. Thanks again, it means the world to me.**

**Greta13 - You're awesome! Glad to hear you say that! I try and stick to the canon as much as possible; I picked a personality for Garrett (the sarcasm one, obviously!) and tried to keep him as much in character as I could. Good to know it's paying off. Keep your comments coming, I always get excited when I see them! See what I did there? (:**

**Baelfire - You definitely don't sound like a plonker. I won't give up, not now. It's just all your comments and reviews keep me going at a reasonable pace. They give me the good ol' kick in the butt when I start slacking off. I DO THIS FOR YOU. Thank you for rambling! It put a big smile on my face :D P.S. what's a plonker? P:**

**Macky-Macky-Macky - Oh my goodness, thank you so much for taking the time to review. You don't have to apologize for your rant at all. Thanks for sharing all your thoughts and reactions, it really helps me get a handle on how people take to the siblings the way I write them. Thank you for taking the time to review, and again you've no need to say you're sorry. Your review helps kick my butt into high gear!**

**Thank you to those of you who reviewed, know that this chapter is entirely for you. I really appreciate your support, those of you who continue to review and those who just now broke their silence. I cannot express to you how important these reviews are to the story and to me. I will finish this, and I will have those of you who continue to voice your thoughts to thank.**

**That being said, keep them coming! I enjoy hearing what you have to say, and as promised I will continue to respond to them in the footnotes of the next chapters.**

**I love you all.**

**Shmee**


	12. Losing

In a year and a half, the eldest Hawke proved that he'd the uncanny ability to draw the most peculiar group of people to his company. They were only misfits, outcasts and loners – a ragtag bunch that would likely never have come together if it weren't for a catalyst like Garrett Hawke.

Carver spent his whole life grumbling about the fact, but his elder brother was just _good_ with people. He had this talent for getting people on his side, for getting people to like him. He knew what to say, when to say it and how to say it in such a way that he drew the favour of those who may not even share his views – or care much for his wit and sarcasm. He was, in the simplest of terms, _likable_.

As the patriarch as their family, his elder brother was now only known as Hawke. Even those he kept in his company very rarely used his first name. There were times Carver wondered if their companions even knew his brother's name, for he was Hawke – _the_ Hawke – to everyone now. Often Carver felt a jab of jealousy every time he heard the name and then realized no one had any interest in talking to him.

No, when someone called for Hawke, they expected the charming, roguish mage to answer the call. As far as anyone else was concerned, Carver was only Carver, the little brother.

Well, that wasn't entirely true, thanks to the sly reminders a certain dwarf so frequently provided.

Varric and Garrett Hawke had been fast friends. They got along like a house on fire, and considering the amount of trouble they tended to eagerly dive right into, that metaphor probably wasn't far off from reality. The dwarf shared his brother's wit and love for words. They traded jokes and stories as if they'd known each other for years upon years. Because of their similarities, Garrett liked to have the talented dwarf along whenever he could – much to Carver's annoyance.

The younger Hawke did not share his brother's love for the rogue and made no effort to hide it. It was hard to like someone who so frequently picked at your flaws and twisted his words to get a rise out of you. Carver's hackles rose every time he was called _Junior, _or _Little Hawke._ Those names were always followed with a nosey comment about his behaviour – about how the way he acted paled in comparison to his brother's smooth talking ways. Or about how _he_ was the one in the wrong when he got annoyed by Garrett's sarcasm or his let's-away-to-adventure attitude. Varric claimed to understand what it was like being the little brother, but failed to actually say anything _helpful_ when he did.

Isabela, another fast friend of the Hawke scion, was a little better, because at least she didn't have to drag his brother into things to get a rise out of him. No, Isabela managed to make him sputter indignantly all of her own accord. She would flirt – rather scandalously – or call him out on his adolescence. Try as he may to return her banter, she never failed to humiliate him _somehow_. She teased in every sense of the word and babied him with all the love and affection as a cactus. Every touch, every concern, held the risk of biting at him more than help, and she _knew_ it.

The three of them were thick as thieves, figuratively and literally. They met frequently in the Hanged Man for drinks, often to celebrate some big accomplishment of the little troupe. As much as Carver complained about his brother, that didn't seem to deter Hawke from inviting his sibling out drinking with them whenever they went. Purely for the sake of being involved, the warrior didn't often refuse.

Even if it meant being teased relentlessly most of the night. Alcohol helped make that bearable.

Sometimes, Hawke's charm and pleading (and sometimes a little blackmail) assembled a larger crowd at the bar for drinks. The rogues, who had the advantage of living at the Hanged Man, would reserve the biggest round table available, always in preparation for whoever Hawke convinced to come or whomever decided to join them. Isabela made a point to acquire a deck of cards from someone in the tavern and the pair of rogues usually had a game going by the time Garrett settled himself into his chair.

"Hawke," Varric said, looking up from his cards to the mage in question. His eyes then fell on the man's brother, who walked willingly in his shadow but looked miserable to be there. "And Junior! So nice of you to join us, kiddo."

Carver scowled at the dwarf, but took a seat beside his brother regardless.

"So. How much have you lost so far?" Hawke grinned at the dwarf as he was dealt into the game. He'd all but collapsed into the chair beside Isabela, reclining over the little wooden thing as if it were the comfiest throne in Thedas.

"Oh, Hawke, have more faith in me! I've not a copper to my name lost yet!"

"Partially because we haven't started betting yet," Isabela said slyly, a smile on those full lips. She was dealing in Carver as well, even though he never indicated that he _wanted_ to play with a bunch of people who could lie without batting an eye. Varric flagged down a serving girl for mead.

As the girl swayed away to fetch their drinks, Carver's eyes followed her until they fell upon the door, where a little elf woman wandered in, hands knit tightly together in front of her and looking terribly lost.

"Is that-"

"Kitten!" Carver's question was cut off when Isabela slammed her hands down on the table and stood, then lifted an arm to wave at the petite she-elf. The elf's large eyes fell upon the small group and grew wider, a smile on her face. She scurried over to their table, hesitating to sit down.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Am I late? I didn't mean it. A rat made off with one of my scarves and just wouldn't give it back. If he hadn't of gone and done that, I would've been here on time, I swear."

"Relax, Kitten," Isabela eased back into her chair, "I'd say you're early."

"Oh? Am I? Well, um, that's good!"

Merrill stood awkwardly, as if unsure what to do.

"Well don't just stand around," Carver said, much harsher than he'd meant to. He bit his tongue and quieted his tone, "you can sit down wherever."

The elf gave a start, apologized again, then took the empty seat beside the younger Hawke. Carver cast his gaze off to the side, suddenly feeling sheepish and hesitant to meet the she-elf's wide-eyed stare. Instead he focused on the serving girl and the tray as she approached, willing her to walk faster with their drinks.

Really, Carver actually _liked _Merrill. Granted, the fact that she was a _blood mage_ struck a sour note every time Carver gave it thought, but it was hard to be in the company of the petite elf and remember the dark magics she embraced. She was so sweet, so trusting and so ready to talk – to anyone. She held no true hatred for much of anything, and her innocence made her easy to talk to. What was more was that she made Carver feel important. She was quick to compliment him and often it was _he_ who took the time to carefully explain their companion's jokes to her, taking pity on and recognizing the signs of someone not so equipped to deal with sarcasm.

When Isabela went to deal her in, she gave the cards a look of confusion.

"Ah, uhm. I've no idea how to play. Is it very hard?"

"Only if you're gullible, Daisy." Varric offered the elf a charming smile, only to turn it on the girl who placed a tankard by his hand. He nodded his thanks and went to take a swig.

"Oh, then I might be dreadfully bad at this...shall I watch? I think it'd be better if I watched for now. Carver, might I be able to watch you?" The elf caught herself quickly. "Play cards! I mean...Would I be able to watch you play cards...um...yes."

Carver hid his blush at Merrill's unwitting suggestions in his mug, taking a long drink before setting down the alcohol and giving the elf a nod. She shuffled closer to him, chair and all, to sit right at his side. She was still and quiet for a moment, before looking from the young man's hands to the cards lying face-down on the table.

"Um, aren't you supposed to play with the cards in your hand? Is that wrong?"

"We're waiting," the younger Hawke said simply, "we might have more joining us."

Merrill nodded in understanding, only to widen her eyes as the serving girl put a drink in front of her. She lifted her hand,

"Oh, no, I-" But the girl was gone, leaving the little elf to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

"It's alright, Merrill," said Hawke, "a little drink won't kill you."

"I know, it's just, I...I um...I guess I've never really done this before either. Does it hurt? I was told it hurts the first time."

Varric choked on his drink while Hawke and Isabela fell over each other in laughter. Carver stared ahead, his expression stiff as he tried to stop the flush of his face. He _knew_ he would be the one to have to explain this. His brother and the pirate were laughing themselves to tears while the dwarf tried desperately to stifle his coughs, pounding on his chest with a fist. Carver was sure Varric would be laughing too, were he not dying.

"It's uh...not like that, Merrill," said Carver slowly, gripping his mug tight. "You're thinking of something...else. Drink...doesn't hurt, really – unless you over do it." He turned finally to see that wide-eyed, quizzical stare. Her eyes searched his face for the answers to questions she'd yet to ask.

"Oh? Then what was...Oh. Oh!" The little elf went red as she remembered, completely ruining whatever composure the pirate and mage had managed to scrape together. "That's not what I...oh my...I just mixed them up..." But the pair could not stifle their laughter. Carver's glare was wasted on them, they paid no attention. In their childish distraction, they didn't notice a second elf slip into the tavern, nor did they sight him until he came up behind Varric, who was clearing his throat to rid himself of the irritation.

"I cannot tell if all this noise is a result of the sludge here or just..." Fenris made a face. "...you." He gestured to the entire table with a sweep of his hand, then went to take the empty seat beside Varric, grimacing at some of the questionable stains in the wood.

"Well look who climbed off his High horse to mingle with the commoners!" Varric slid a mug of ale over to the elf with his words. The white-haired warrior gave the liquid inside a grimace.

"You don't actually drink the stuff here, do you?" In response, Isabela slammed her drink back, wiped at her lips with the back of an arm and grinned wolfishly at the elf. He watched this with a careful expression, then looked back into his drink with an uncertainty about him. "...I see."

He didn't lift his glass.

"Is this your first time too, Fenris?" At the childish giggling coming from duo across the table, Merrill went red and rushed to correct herself. "Drinking...I mean. Or cards...I don't know...Whichever it is."

Carver watched the tattooed elf give the Dalish girl an unreadable look.

Fenris was a strange thing, a prickly individual that Carver tried to get along with, but found the warrior really wanted little to do with other people. When they had met, he'd called Hawke out on being a mage and challenged him on his views, but despite his obvious distaste for magic and those who wielded it, agreed to help regardless; to 'fill a debt,' he had assured. Somehow, Carver doubted this was truly the case. Fenris had taken the heat for their little ragtag team in battle numerous times – certainly enough to merit for a debt repaid – but still he remained. This could likely be attributed to Garrett's talent to not only match the elf's logic with sense of his own, but do so with a smile on his face and a joke to soften the stalemate that followed.

But Carver's attempt to befriend the elf had not been so simple. He wasn't as good with words and was often at a loss for what to say to the elf who actually seemed to carry sense about him. Fenris's big words and controversial views were a little daunting to the youth and despite the fact that they shared a similar viewpoint, Carver found it difficult to talk to him.

"No," the elf said at last, but still made no move to drink from his cup. "I am no stranger to drink, or betting games of chance. I do, however, hesitate to ingest anything that appears to be flavoured with the essence of vermin." Fenris reached into his mug and pulled out a small piece of...something. It was a dirtied peach colour and appeared to squish easily between the claws of his gauntlet. He flicked the whatever-it-was aside with a look of disgust.

"Oh come now, Fenris," said Hawke with a bright smile, flagging down the serving girl as he polished off his own mug. "If you gorge yourself on the finer things in life holed up in that mansion of yours every night, you'll miss all the little pleasures!"

"Drinking poison does not quite fit my criterion for a 'little pleasure,' Hawke."

The elf's voice was tinged with distaste, but Carver had a feeling it wasn't entirely because of the drink this time. Fenris still had yet to completely drop his guard around the mage, and the younger Hawke wasn't sure if he truly blamed him. He'd a rough experience with mages, his distrust obvious by his words and actions. But Garrett was _not_ the Magisters who tattooed the elf, and while he might be dangerous and a powerful mage, the man was no threat to anyone he considered an ally.

Eventually, Fenris would warm up and see that, but until that time, Carver would have to settle for giving the other warrior a warning look whenever he appeared to be getting hostile because of something his brother couldn't help.

What he _could_ help, however, was _not_ teasing the elf at every opportunity he got.

"Well, if you're _scared _of a little _mead,_ Fenris, I understand."

The elf scowled.

"I am not a child, I will not be goaded into conforming because of a fear you invent for me."

Hawke only grinned. Sure enough, Isabela picked up the metaphorical string where the mage had left it.

"Big talk for a little elf," she purred, leaning forward over the table. One elbow propped against the table, holding her head up in her palm while her other arm held up the mug as the server refilled it. She set the tankard down and smirked. Fenris leaned back – though the pirate was nowhere near him at all – and narrowed his eyes. The claws of his gauntlets twitched.

Then Carver realized his brother was giving him _the look_. The look being the subtle hint that he wanted his little brother's support. So with a sigh, he turned his eyes to the elf and put in a half-hearted push.

"I've been drinking this stuff since we arrived in Kirkwall, so I've gone a good year and a bit ingesting this poison. _I've_ yet to die, so someone like you should be fine." To accent his point and downplay the flattery, Carver took a long swig of his drink and put it down, fighting the urge to grimace with all his might.

Merrill was watching him as he spoke, looking downright amazed. In the silence that followed the younger Hawke's words, she held rim of the mug with her fingers, lifting it up and bringing her lips to the tin. She hesitated there, and Carver muttered a tip under his breath, turning his head to the little she-elf as he did.

"Don't breathe, just drink."

She gave the slightest of nods and took in a deep breath before tilting her head back. She managed to take three gulps before slamming the mug down and sputtering. Her eyes watered as a hand flew to her throat. Carver reached over and patted the girl on the back lightly, his hand lingering for a little longer the necessary as she coughed.

"See?" Isabela had noted Carver's little gesture of affection, and though she grinned devilishly at the sight, she did not tease him for it – she had bigger fish to fry, after all. "The little _Dalish_ elf can do it."

But as she turned her attention back to the warrior, her face fell. He had over turned his cup and now carved a circle in the bottom of the mug with a claw, a smug smile on his lips. There were no puddles on the table or the floor nearby, no evidence that he'd dumped his drink in favour of consuming it. While they'd all focused on Merrill's small accomplishment, he'd already finished.

"Bullshit!" Hawke called, waving his finger accusingly. Fenris's smile didn't die. "I have to see it, or it didn't happen!" He waved for the server to return for refills and the warrior elf only shrugged, his eyes on the space just above the mage.

"Hawke," Aveline said evenly, succeeding in making the man jump in his chair. The guard captain had used _that_ tone of voice – the tone that usually meant Garrett had been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn't. He turned his most charming smile up to the woman.

"Aveline! What brings you to this cozy little establishment? Trouble in Lowtown? Little guards off snogging in the shadows? The sheer agony of being apart from me for so long?"

The guardswoman gave the mage a little shove, pushing his head forward while trying not to smile.

"No, no, and no. I actually came to join you," she said, pulling up a chair to settle herself between the Hawkes. They parted to allow her some room to sit. Garrett leaned into Isabela with a flirtatious smile, who didn't protest in the least while Carver shuffled awkwardly closer to Merrill, trying his very hardest not to touch her in any way. Aveline gave Garrett a little kick at the shameless flirting, who straightened out and returned to the guard a winning smile.

Over the past year, Aveline had become like family to the boys – a sister in place of the one they'd lost. While the ginger would _never_ replace Bethany, her presence in their family seemed almost necessary. She was a guiding hand that kept Garrett in line and held Carver back, for the good of them both. Sometimes, the youngest Hawke felt like Garrett was no longer the eldest sibling.

Their server poured the guard captain a drink, and Isabela dealt her in. Finally, deeming their table big enough for a game, the pirate nodded for the players to pick up their cards.

"Shall we have a warm up round, then? Lady man-hands has gone so long in the seat of importance, she's probably forgotten how to play with the best," Isabela leaned back, fanning her cards in front of her to hide her smug grin. Aveline chose not to react, arranging her cards coolly in her hand.

"What we will be betting?" she asked, refusing to be baited so soon into the game by the whore.

"Good ol' fashioned coinage, of course!" Garrett dropped a few sovereigns onto the table, surprised when Isabela held up a hand to stop him from bringing out any further.

"Save your coin, Hawke," she said smoothly, that predatory look on her face again, "you'll be needing it for your expedition. This time, I think we should play in favours and truths."

At her words, a tense silence fell over the party. Fenris gripped the wood tightly, leaving imprints where his wicked gauntlets bit into the table. Varric's sly smile reached his eyes as they scanned the participants in the game. Merrill perched nervously over Carver's shoulder, who looked pretty much indifferent to the whole thing – but he could very well be putting on a front. Aveline's face had set into a tense frown, while Garrett simply looked thoughtful.

"No," he said at last, and the tension seemed to ease. Isabela looked to her mage-friend with disappointment.

"Hawke-"

"Another time, Isabela," said Hawke with a small smile, dropping the remainder of his pocket coin on the table and pushing it into the middle. "Good ol' fashioned coin," he repeated.

While no one openly spoke of it, everyone present – even the pirate, after consideration – was glad for his decision. _That_ sort of game involved a closeness and friendship that no one here really seemed to share.

"Another round!" hollered Varric, breaking through the silence with a grin, "on me!"

As the night ground on, the group played their betting game far louder than they likely needed to, but the noise of the tavern rose to compete with them so no one really seemed to notice.

Merrill didn't get very far into her drink – she didn't need to. When half the large mug was gone, she was all giggles and a never ending stream of words. Her eyes were bright and her pale face flushed with warmth. She did eventually join into their Wicked Grace, but even with Carver's coaching the girl lost all the money she'd bet and found this absolutely hilarious.

Fenris managed to keep up with the best of them – the roguish trio who'd invited them all – and once well warmed with drink, was full of a lot more smiles and laughter than anyone thought proper.

Carver had foolishly drunk himself into oblivion, confused and lost as to where all his money was going when he'd been fine only an hour or so earlier. He leaned into his hands with frustration, breathing out long huffs of air and trying to draw attention to his misfortune. Merrill talked about something no one was listening to and Aveline had been careful with how many cups she finished. Her cheeks were flush and she was prone to smiling a little more loosely, but otherwise no one would've noticed she'd been drinking that night. Needless to say, neither of the ladies who flanked him paid the huffing and puffing Carver any notice.

The remaining trio were old hands at holding their liquor, so while they laughed and howled and told raunchy jokes, it was a while before the amount they'd ingested started to show.

Eventually, Merrill's unending chatter suddenly stopped, interrupted by a wide yawn. She leaned over, making Carver rigid as she smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. She murmured something in Dalish, then promptly passed out on the young man. He shifted awkwardly, aware the girl would likely slip out of her chair if left like that, and drunkenly tried to move her weight off of himself and onto the table. She was small and light and he'd the strength of a seasoned warrior, were it not for the drink impairing his balance it probably would've been much easier and more graceful a task.

But eventually her torso was leaning on the table, pushed there by the younger Hawke. She'd folded her arms over the wood unconsciously and rested her head, a pleasant smile on her face.

It was then that Isabela's eyes found the door as if by instinct, honing in on a newcomer to the tavern with a familiar hunger.

"My, my, tell the server lady I'll take some of _that_ with my next pint,_"_ she cooed, and Garrett followed her stare to the man at the door and matched her smirk with a bright grin of his own.

"He looks so lost!" he observed cheerily, and it was true.

The man under their stare shied away from a girl who'd all but fallen over him at the door, giving her a sympathetic look as strong hands guided her away. A woman approached him with a tankard on her tray and offered it to him as she passed, but he held up his hands and shook his head, then turning his attention to the entirety of the bar.

"What d'you suppose he's doing here?" Garrett wondered, leaning on his elbow as he spoke almost dreamily. Isabela was too busy dragging a chair over to answer. She propped her boots against Hawke's chair and pushed, though she only succeeded in shoving her own chair aside as the mage remained in place. She shrugged and shuffled over a little further, then moved the stool she'd dragged to the space she'd made between them.

"Probably breaking some more rules," observed Varric as he watched the pirate sway in her chair a moment, a little unbalanced after the shuffling. When she'd found herself, she leaned back and propped her feet up on the table, displaying her long legs for the world to see and picking up her cards again. Aveline wrinkled her nose at the display, muttering something under her breath that sounded derogatory and vulgar.

Eventually, the man at the door who shied away or shook his head at every advance, found them. His eyes zeroed in on the assortment of people gathered about their table and his expression became hopeful. He moved to approach them, pausing only to steady someone who'd stumbled into him and guide them on their way with steady hands. He moved carefully around patrons where others would've shoved their way through and by the time he'd stopped at their table, everyone who'd been involved in their game knew he was present.

"Greetings, I'm told you are Hawke and...everyone," the man's brogue stirred Merrill, but did not wake her. He didn't notice how Carver bristled at being lumped in with 'Hawke and everyone' – the boy wasn't drunk enough to not be angry. Absently, Garrett wondered if there _was_ a point where his brother would be too drunk to be angry. As he lifted his own mug to his lips, he made a quiet vow to find out some day.

"Aren't you...not supposed to be down here?" asked Hawke, studying the man after lowering his tankard. He'd adorned his armour for the visit – his fur lined coat pinned under that bright, white and well-polished armour that was trimmed with a gold that caught the eye of many a shady character in the tavern. Carver cast a look over his shoulder and grimaced at the man before turning his attention back to his drink. He looked entirely out of place with his brown hair neatly combed back and seeming far too well put together for the tavern.

"It is no sin to be among those who look to drink for guidance or a good time, the Maker would see me educate them on a better path while I'm here."

"So, what, you're here to preach?" Isabela sounded disappointed.

"Actually, I heard what Hawke did to the Flint company mercenaries, I'm surprised you didn't come to me and tell me when you'd finished the deed." The man's sharp blue eyes found the eldest Hawke, who tapped at the side of his tin mug as if bored.

"It slipped my mind," he said simply, "I frequently get distracted with things that don't involve being in the Chantry, it's a curse, really."

The man made a confused face, unsure if that was sincerity or sarcasm in Hawke's tone.

"Are you not a man of faith, Hawke?"

"Not particularly, no."

Isabela cast a glance to the mage, intrigued with how the normally chipper man's eyes were now downcast into his mug, his tone unusually dismissive. The pirate nudged Varric and subtly flicked her gaze in Hawke's direction, but the dwarf only shrugged. Nearby, Fenris stiffened as if he was ready to pounce on the newcomer, looking to Hawke for a sign to do so, though he received none. To the observant pirate, it looked like the elf was ready to _protect _their mage-leader. She made a mental note to investigate later.

"Regardless, I wanted to meet the man who killed the murderers of my family, and present him with the reward I'd offered." The man threw a cloth bag on the table, the coins within hitting the surface with a jingle. This made Hawke perk up a little, but he did not move to take it.

"I'm honoured," he said, though he didn't really sound it, "it's not often a Prince seeks my company to reward me."

Isabela sputtered in her drink, but it seemed she was the only one to react. Varric watched the men with careful eyes, while Fenris gripped the table with those clawed gauntlets, gauging shallow marks into the wood. Aveline gave the elf a sour look for the destruction of public property, but bit her tongue on the matter, knowing know was not the time or place. Carver swayed in his chair, Merrill remained out cold and Hawke...Hawke took another drink.

"Aye, consider this an advance. There will be more when I reclaim my lands."

"I'm sure." At last, the elder Hawke reached out and dragged the bag towards him, though did so hesitantly. "I don't suppose you'd be hanging around for a drink or two, then, m'lord?"

The man shook his head and smiled warmly.

"I thank you for the invitation, but _that_ may be breaking some rules, Serah Hawke." He clicked his heels together and dipped into a shallow, respectful bow. "If you ever have any need of me, you may find me in the Chantry, or with luck – the Viscount's office. It is time to petition the viscount for aid to a fellow city. Enjoy your night, Serah," he gave a slight nod then swept his gaze over the table before turning and exiting in a manner much like the one he'd arrived in. Even before he was out of the tavern, Isabela threw her cards on the table.

"Alright, who was _that_, and why wasn't I introduced earlier? A prince?" She looked to Hawke, "you _know_ how much I've always wanted a prince!"

"He's not much of a prince without a kingdom to be...princely...over," slurred Carver, furrowing his brow as he reflected on his choice of words.

"Yes," echoed Hawke, putting on an accent that mimicked the prince's brogue quite nicely, "Prince of Starkhaven, true heir to an occupied throne." The man dropped the accent after taking a long drink. "Now he mostly hides out in the Chantry all day, though the Grand Cleric seemed right pissed at him when we took the job, so I can't imagine his stay there will be very permanent, if it ever was."

"I wonder if he would have been so eager to reward us for our assistance had he known of your true nature, Hawke." Fenris fixed an inquisitive stare on the man he spoke to.

"What do you mean? I should think he would've rewarded me more!" Hawke pretended not to understand, "who _wouldn't_ want to reward my charm and loveable personality?" Aveline gave the mage the umpteenth meant-to-be-disciplinary shove of the night and Fenris did not smile at the witticism, but merely stared into his drink as he continued.

"It is to my understanding that the Chantry here is not as..._accepting -" _Fenris hissed the word "-of mages as the Tevinter Chantry."

"Hence why I was in no rush to reclaim my reward."

"Then why do the deed at all?"

At the Tevinter elf's question, all (open) eyes honed onto Hawke, who met their inquisitive stares with a charming smile. Now that it had been spoken aloud, those present did begin to wonder why the mage hadn't just taken the money and run. Well, _almost_ all who were present. Merrill was still blissfully unconscious while Carver fixed his brother with a hard, knowing stare.

"To impress all of you, of course!" chirped the mage, sounding convincingly genuine. Carver scowled and slammed back another drink. If his brother was going to be all saintly and kind, he might as well _take credit for it_, instead of making things more complicated by pretending he was just some scoundrel living on whims. The fact that the elder Hawke cared more about people than he let on wasn't impressing anyone – well, certainly not Carver, who knew the steps to his brother's song and dance off by heart.

The truth was, the prince's story struck a chord with Garrett, and Carver knew because he'd felt it too. It hurt so much just to lose _one_ dear family member, but all of them in one go? They'd literally torn the ogre to shreds to avenge the love they'd lost, but it hadn't quite filled the void. His brother was probably helping the prince skip a step in finding his closure, because so far the Hawkes had not found their own.

Simply put, it was an act of sympathy. Garrett could preach otherwise, but he would've done it even without the price tag.

The fact that their buyer rarely exited the Chantry was just an easy excuse as to why a mage wouldn't rush in.

But if their companions realized the depth of their mutual friend's reasoning, it didn't show. Fenris shrugged and shoved away his mug, satisfied enough without a true answer and done drinking the stuff he'd affectionately dubbed 'poison'. Isabela gave Hawke a sideways, suspicious look, but pried no further while the dwarf just kept smiling into the drags of his mug. Aveline sighed and rose, dismissing herself with the claims that she had drills to run in the morning.

"Don't drink yourselves to death, and there will be no special treatment if I find any of you got up to destructive 'shenanigans' overnight. Hawke, I'm looking at you."

But Garrett only smiled cheerily back, holding up his hands in a mock-innocent surrender. The guard-captain said her goodbyes, paused to ask that _someone please see that poor girl home_, then exited the tavern with hardly a sway to her step.

Hawke challenged the dwarf to a one-on-one game when Carver suddenly rose, his anger obvious as he spun himself away from the table and nearly tripped as a result. Burning with shame at his drunken clumsiness, the boy stumbled away from the table, walking first into another chair before finding some semblance of stability and storming for the door – his pace probably aided by the fact that he was on the brink of falling forward.

No one at the table really paid him any mind. Fenris leaned into a hand to watch the game with minor interest and Hawke said not a word as the dwarf dealt. Isabela's eyes wandered over the tavern, spotted a rather large looking mercenary and licked her lips.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, boys. Duty calls." She tipped her head with a smirk and got up, sauntering over to where the mercenary stood.

But as soon as she felt the eyes of her comrades leave her, she walked right by the mercenary and blended with the crowd, moving swiftly to the door to follow in the younger Hawke's drunken footsteps. Her step was quick and even. She'd gone many a night piss drunk on a swaying ship, giving the appearance of sobriety when she walked on solid ground was child's play. She found the boy staggering towards their uncle's home and moved a little faster.

She came up behind him quite suddenly, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling the boy towards her. He cried out and stumbled, hardly struggling as she turned him around, gathered his collar in her hands and backed the youth up against a wall. The pirate gave him a moment to squint at her, his face slowly dawning with recognition.

"Isabela?" The pirate rewarded his guess by leaning her weight against him. One of her knees came up to his hip and her hands moved to his chest, her fingers fanning over his pectorals and applying slight pressure.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, little Hawke?"

Carver scowled, but the pirate eased that expression away with the massaging of her deft fingers. Now he looked confused, his true blue eyes struggling to focus on the pirate.

"What...are you up to, Isa...Isabela?"

"Oh, I was just hoping to get to know you better, pup," she cooed, her hands dancing lower over the boy's chest. He sucked in a ragged breath, narrowing his eyes at her featherlight touches. He stopped her wandering any lower with his next words.

"You're...you're talking about my brother...yeah?"

"I haven't said a thing about him yet," she brought her face close and smiled, amused when the boy jerked back and bashed his head on the brick.

"Yet," he repeated, hissing at the pain.

Never without that smile, Isabela relented, deciding to speak frankly with the boy, slowly tracing the muscles through his shirt with her fingers, looking to distract him from being defensive with her touches.

"Alright then, if you want to talk about your brother, I suppose we could."

"I-I don't-"

Isabela hushed him, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Me first, pup. Why _didn't_ your dear brother go get the money for himself?"

Carver swore under the finger pressed to his mouth and Isabela let her hands wander the boy's torso, putting pressure on muscles she imagined were worked frequently and keeping her eyes on the younger Hawke's face, watching for his reactions – for honesty.

"Because he _thinks_ he's being all...I'unno...saintly or summin'." Carver kept his eyes narrowed and watched Isabela carefully, something buzzing in the back of his mind, but he wasn't convinced that wasn't just the pain from smacking his head on the wall.

"Saintly?" echoed Isabela, encouraging the boy to continue by pressing her palms into his abs and massaging outwards.

"He doesn't care 'bout the...'bout the coin. Not really. He would'a done it..." He trailed off, but the pirate didn't need him to finish. Really, the pirate didn't _need_ him to talk at all, she didn't _need_ to know any of this. But she was nosey, and Hawke was a curiosity she looked to satisfy, a prize she may yet seek to claim. She wanted to know everything she could about what she sought, whether it was something of worth or just another notch in her bedpost.

Well, it would be a notch regardless, but she was interested to know if it was a notch she would have the chance to brag about. And gossip was gossip. She liked gossip, and the means she had to go about hearing it was just an added bonus.

"Why didn't he care for the coin? That man is all about coin," she said, mostly to encourage the boy to keep speaking, "An expedition isn't cheap, why ignore the reward of a prince?"

"We...we never told you about...about our sister," Carver breathed, his voice barely audible. Isabela paused her actions and leaned back a little, her smile innocent.

"You have a sister?" she pressed.

"Had," the boy corrected, his expression suddenly solemn. "She was...she was my twin." Isabela felt something cold shoot into her belly and suddenly she was not so eager to pry.

But she wasn't one for leaving things half finished.

"Beth was...she..." The boy's eyes glazed over with pain, and the pirate pressed her hand to his lips gently.

"Hush, pup, don't think," she soothed while her opposite hand traced lower. "Your sister Beth, she died?"

The boy nodded, looking pitiful and broken. Isabela scolded herself internally and vowed to at least reward the youth – to not leave him feeling the way he looked.

"And you killed the mercenaries to avenge her?"

"No...no. She was..." he stumbled over his words as he'd stumbled over his own feet earlier, "...she...an ogre...in Ferelden..."

"So why would Hawke do charity work for a prince?"

"He's soft..." Carver mumbled, though the remark sounded like he'd wanted to say it bitterly. "Sympathy, maybe. He...I dunno...pitied him? It was _his_ fault."

At this, Isabela felt her own eyes narrow at the accusation in the boy's voice.

"Now surely-"

"No, no, it was his fault!" he insisted, his hands flew up and snatched her wrists. Carver held tightly to them as he continued, not registering the warning look on the pirate's face. "_He_ was s'posed to...to protect her...to protect _us_. _He's_ the eldest...it's _his_ sodding job..._he_ screwed it up...he wasn't there when...when..."

Isabela twisted her wrists, reversed their grip and slammed the boy's hands back into the wall behind him.

"Now, now, pup," she cooed, but the sweetness in her voice was forced. "You're thinking again...I don't need you to think. If you think, it starts to hurt, right?"

The youth nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. The pain in his face was evident and Isabela pitied the boy. She slowly released his wrists and his arms moved to brace himself against the wall as her hands drifted to his chest again.

"I know something we can do that you won't have to think about, pup," she rested her chin on his shoulder to breathe these words into the youth's ear as her hands wandered lower. Her fingernails scraped over the muscles of his chest, tracing light lines down his stomach.

"I-I–"

"Shh, now. Wouldn't it be nice? Just you and me, a little 'duel,' right here."

"A duel?" he echoed, confused. "As in...like...you know..."

Isabela gave a low chuckle at the boy's intoxicated naivete and answered his question by groping him quite suddenly through his trousers. The youth gave a cry of surprise, jerking his head back and swearing at the pain when his skull hit concrete a second time.

"Isabela!"

The pirate pushed off the boy suddenly, instantly recognizing the voice and turning a charming smile on the Hawke patriarch, who'd rounded the corner to quite the sight. At first he'd looked surprised, then a little amused – until his eyes found the confused, frazzled expression of his younger brother. Whatever Garrett was able to read in his kin's expression he did not like, for he frowned at the woman and raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't realize Carver was your type," he said smoothly. Isabela was not fooled. She could hear the ice in the man's tone and knew he suspected that her meeting with his brother wasn't _just_ a drunken scandal.

"I don't really have a type," she responded with a sly smile, "but if I did, I think Hawke men would be somewhere near the top of my list." Isabela sauntered close to the elder Hawke, who matched her smile with one of his own. Again, Isabela was not fooled.

"Is that a fact? I'll have to lock my dear brother up then, to keep the cougars of the night at bay."

"You could do that, I suppose," the pirate returned, "but then what would you do about yourself?"

"Perhaps I'd carry something shiny on my person, just in case – or a full sized brigantine in my pocket to throw if I find myself cornered by pesky pirates and am in need of a distraction." Isabela stopped right in front of Hawke, smiling up at him as the man didn't back away or flinch at her closeness – accepting her challenge. They ignored Carver's confused sputtering behind them.

"Ooohh," Isabela purred, "Talk ships with me, mage, and you're talking dirty. Though personally I prefer something like a barque – you know, they're _bigger_, able to put up with a little more rough-housing."

"You know," Hawke said, matching her tone, "I could've sworn I heard a man in the tavern ranting about Barques _and_ Barquentines, you'd probably have a _fantastic_ time talking with someone so passionate about the size of his ship."

Isabela relented.

"You might be right. I find it's too cold out here anyways, I think I'm in need of further inebriation to warm up."

The pirate stepped back from the mage and instead going to move around Hawke, but not without brushing her arm against him lightly as she passed, giving him a knowing little wink. Garrett sighed and lifted his stare to his brother.

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

"W-what?" Carver stood, baffled and feeling terribly confused. There was a painful throbbing in the back of his head that he couldn't quite remember where he'd gotten it from. "What was...all of _that?_" He waved his arms in a frantic gesture to what had just occurred and what he had witnessed.

"That's how you talk with a pirate. But it's a lot easier when you're not prone to falling over with a light breeze. Come on, brother, let's get our sorry selves home."

Carver nodded numbly, stumbling into step behind his brother at the duo crossed the remaining street to Gamlen's run down little shack. The younger Hawke tripped all of two times, but each time his brother was there to hoist the youth back to his feet and clap a hand on his back. He would be teased relentlessly the following morning, but Carver couldn't find the will in him to really care as he threw an arm around his brother and leaned his weight on the elder Hawke, who supported it silently all the way to the front step.

* * *

**It's the final countdown!  
Du na na na, na na na na nah!**

**caitie29 - Thanks so much! Sarcastic Hawke is fun to write, and I really like the dynamic of the brothers' rivalry, so it's cool to find someone who thinks it's just as kickass as I do. Unfortunately, this story doesn't go all the way to Meredith, because this is meant as more of a prequel to the game than a full re-telling. I break the rules a little bit with these last few chapters, but it goes no further than just before the deep roads. THE REST IS UP TO YOU. (insert ominous music here)**

**Kaedwen - Wow, you tore through all this in one day? Impressive! You read like I do! -speed reader brofist- Garrett is a riot to write, as I'm sure you've noticed, and I was always really fascinated by his and Carver's relationship. I love Beth, but she was just too easy to get along with, you know? There's always more interesting things to find in a relationship that isn't so rainbows-and-butterflies-esque.**

**Royal Melon Princess Dark - Can't wait to hear your reviews whenever I post a chapter! I'm both happy and sad I made you cry, tho. Sad for your tears, happy drawing out that strong of an emotion (:**

**Royal Melon Lord Sem - I'm drawing a parallel between these two names...hmmm. Anyways, Thank you for your kind words, I really did try to get all three of the Hawke children as in-character as possible. Please, take anything you can draw from my writing to help in your own, I'm flattered you feel that way! Truly, such kind words that made my day, I can't thank you enough for all of your reviews.**

**AllHailBreezus - Welcome back! As a welcome back present, I'm updating another chapter, wooo! :D**

**islayzombees - Oh, I'm saddened that you would stoop this low, friend. ): I'm going to go ahead an assume you didn't even read the chapter your reviewed. I'm sorry, really. You asked for constructive criticism on your story and I provided it, I apologize if I came across abrasive, but that's just the kind of critique I give - I do the same thing to myself, I promise you. However, I do not think it's very mature of you to click the first chapter of the first story on my profile and pound out a review because you're bitter. If you did in fact read the first chapter and are speaking honestly, please evaluate! I take criticism as it's given, so please tell me, how is this "like so horrible" and where exactly do you see "bad grammer?" I'd like to fix these problems, but I need you to point them out to me.**

**But for those of you who didn't feel the same as this poor girl, thank you for your support. You make every word of this possible, and every review puts such a smile on my face (:**

**I love you all! You've really dragged me up from my self-doubt concerning this fic, I owe you all so much (:**

**Until next time!**

**~Shmee**


	13. Memories

Carver stared at the door his brother had slammed behind him, unable to call much emotion to the act. He felt terribly empty, standing by the fire and unable to even flinch at the noise of the shack shaking from the impact. He didn't know where his brother was going, and he didn't really want to know. He had...tried to apologize – tried to explain. But he was never good at explaining things, and his apology only ended up sounding like another challenge, a heavy promise that swore he wasn't just going to follow behind his elder brother forever.

But he'd been saying that since he was six, it was no wonder that both Hawke boys didn't feel much impact with _those_ words. The words that preceeded them, however, still hovered in the thick tension they created in the atmosphere.

"_You hating everything I do is really losing its charm,"_ his brother had advanced, looking as annoyed as he'd sounded, stopping as the younger pressed on. Carver was no more comfortable with being stuck in his elder brother's shadow – following him because that was what he was expected to do – than he had been at the tender age of seven. And, like every other time they'd had an argument like to this, Garrett challenged his little brother on his inaction. _I don't see you taking the reins,_ he had scoffed.

But by now, Carver knew what shots to take, and not bothering to consider their impact, he took them.

"_When should I do that? When I'm following you around, or when I'm caring for Mother while you tame mighty Kirkwall?"_ Thinking back now, the boy's gut clenched as he thought of the damage mere talk could do._ "Besides, we both know what happens when someone leaves dear Brother's protection. I'm sure Bethany would appreciate that you're keeping good humor."_

Those words had burned as they had left his lips, tasting bittersweet while they coaxed a dark expression from his kin.

"_Fun's fun," _Garrett had growled, advancing again to stand toe-to-toe with his little brother. Carver was too swept up in the argument to think, to take the warning in his elder's tone. _"But you're taking this little pissing match too far."_

"_What, you don't like someone making a joke out of everything you are?"_ Carver had been hoping to stun his brother into silence, to have the last word and make it sting, but Garrett was still the silver-tongued mage of their youth. He never missed a beat.

"_I don't see the humour in digging up Bethany so you can hide behind her, too."_

With that, Garrett successfully forced their verbal exchange to sizzle into nothing. Carver could offer no stinging response without proving his brother right. The only reason he'd been able to burn the elder Hawke at all is because he had his twin's death to hold above them and the unspoken belief that Garrett should have done something to prevent it.

Neither of them had discussed the event since it happened, but the young warrior _knew_ Garrett blamed himself, and quite frankly, Carver found it difficult not to agree.

Even so, the younger Hawke knew he had taken it too far, just as his brother had said. He had tried to explain, tried to apologize, but ended up using his mother as a scapegoat as well. _It's like Mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared._

Bringing up Mother's fear was so much easier than saying _I am the one who is scared._

But the damage was done and Garrett was gone, Mother was asleep and Gamlen was out. Carver was entirely alone, as he deserved to be. What was worse, was he didn't know how to fix this – didn't know if he _wanted_ could no longer blame his brother or be swept up in _his_ adventures if he just wasn't around. It was like Isabela said, the best way to avoid an argument is to just not be there. With this rift between them, staying apart would just be easier.

With a sigh of resignation, Carver turned towards the fire and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

After staring for what felt like hours, the boy could see the shape of his twin forming in the flames, commanding them with a burning staff. They danced around her as she laughed, calling out to her brother joyously. Carver felt his throat tighten, turning away from the blaze when the laughter turned to sobbing. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the flames had burned their colours there too, and the boy could only hold in a sob of his own as he listened to his sister cry, then scream, then – what he dreaded the most – fell silent.

* * *

Garrett avoided the house for days. He would crash at the bar, or with Aveline in the barracks – anywhere that had a bed for him seemed a better alternative to going home. He couldn't explain why his aversion to Carver was so strong, but he had no desire to see the younger twin, or to iron things out with the boy as he knew he should have.

_I'm sure Bethany would appreciate that you're keeping good humor._

"I'm sure she would, little brother."

Garrett breathed out a quiet response to his kin, though no one was present to hear it. The man sat alone with his drink in one of the secluded rooms at the Hanged Man. He sat with his back being warmed by the fire, watching the shadows being cast on the wall as he rested his chin in his hand.

There were papers on the table he leaned on – documents he'd acquired from a mage who'd claimed to know his father. They detailed the relationship their father had shared with a templar, one Ser Maurevar Carver. He'd been meaning to take them to his little brother, but his hesitance to return home sort of threw a wrench in that plan.

"Well here you are! Brooding up here all by your lonesome." Isabela's voice cut through the haze of self-pity, but did not make the man jump. Instead he lifted his mug the by rim and swished around the drags of alcohol that remained at the bottom.

"Varric has theorized that it's a sport in Tevinter," Garrett returned, though there was no cheer in his voice. "I figured I'd start practising, maybe get some pointers from Fenris, and who knows? I could hold a fancy new title and be rolling in coin by the end of the year, no expedition required."

The pirate came up behind the mage and draped herself warmly over the man's shoulders.

"Oh come now, it's not like you to be miserable for so long! Truly your brother could not have gotten you _that_ badly."

Garrett grunted, but failed to offer a proper response, so Isabela swung around and into the wooden chair across from him. She leaned over the table and propped her elbows on the surface, giving the mage a very generous view at her chest – just as intended, of course.

"Tell ol' Isabela what's on your mind, love," she cooed sweetly, "maybe we can't remedy some of it?" Her eyes narrowed suggestively, but the halfhearted smile Garrett returned to her was something of a turn-off.

"You know, all our lives, I've rarely complained about Carver – made fun of him, yes, but never complained. I didn't whine or carry on about how much it _sucked_ being the person people went to blame first. But with Carver, it was always _something, _and no matter why I did, I was _somehow_ overshadowing him, or putting him down, or making things difficult for him."

Garrett made a wild gesture with his arm, caught between exasperation and frustration.

"At least with Bethany around, he had someone on his level to talk sense to him, but now..."

The man trailed off and bitterly cast his eyes aside. Isabela knew of the Hawke boys' disagreement. She'd coaxed it out of the elder Hawke after his second night at the Hanged Man. Granted, it had taken a lot of ale, but now she was in the loop and if she wanted information, all she had to do was ask. She also knew a little more about Bethany, the elder twin they had lost in Fereldan. She didn't know all that much, just what Garrett had chosen to share. To her knowledge, she was a sweet, innocent girl who brought out the best in both her brothers. Now with her gone, it was obvious they were struggling with how to handle one another.

"Your brother's a twit, that much is certain," Isabela said simply, succeeding in drawing Garrett's eyes back to her. "He's just lashing out, you _both_ lost someone dear, and he doesn't know how to handle it. The best you can do is remember that he's not perfect, and disregard the fact that he's ever so loud

about it."

Again, Garrett offered nothing more than a non-committal grunt and finished what remained of his drink.

"You can start–" Isabela gathered the letters on the table in a hand and held them up "–by giving these to him. The sooner one of you stops being a stubborn idiot, the sooner everything will go back to relative normality."

Garrett gave the letters a blank look, then slowly went to take them from her with a resigning sigh. He stood in unison with the pirate, the scraping of their chairs against the floorboards breaking the hush of the room.

"I swear, you take all the fun out of brooding with your logic and whatnot," said Garrett, giving her a lopsided smile. It wasn't the cheeky grin she was used to, but it was a start. She propped her hands on her hips and returned the smile with one of her own.

"It's what I'm here for. Besides, you're absolutely no fun when _you_ brood, at least Fenris has the decency to brood very obviously or where he can very easily be found."

* * *

When Garrett let himself back into the house, he was greeted by his brother's back as he glowered into the fire. It was as if the boy hadn't moved at all in the time they were apart.

Carver obviously heard him enter, but he did not turn to see him. Instead the warrior folded his arms across his chest and continued to stare. With a thoughtful grunt, Garrett tapped the stack of letters against his palm, then began towards his kin.

"Here, I got you something."

The younger Hawke turned as he realized he was being spoken to. By the expression on his face, it was obvious he'd been busy with his thoughts in the time they were apart. He had a permanent scowl etched into his face, though no anger. When he took the letters from his brother, he looked suspiciously from them to the man who'd delivered them.

"Why?" he asked, the doubt ringing clear in his voice.

"We ended on a tense note last time, take it as you will," Garrett said, trying to stay humble and patient and...everything he usually wasn't when it came to Carver. The urge to throw in a biting remark was strong, but he curbed his tongue. He wanted peace, not another pointless bout with his younger brother.

Carver studied the letters for a moment, passing his eyes quickly over the contents of the topmost message. "These are by Father," he observed. He turned his eyes up to the mage. "Are you sure they aren't meant for you? I bet another mage could get more out of them." Garrett shook his head, stepping forward to take the letters from his brother. He sorted through the first few, bringing out one of the letters to the very top of the pile and handing it back to his brother to read. "For your service that cannot be admitted, I ask that you accept this trinket, and know that I shall respect your name. Thank you, conscience of the order, Ser Maurevar...Carver." That word – that name – earned a pause. "Carver?"

"The Templar who allowed Father to leave Kirkwall. Your namesake." Garrett turned back to the fire, aware his brother was doing the same.

"A Templar? Have we met a templar who isn't a colossal prig?"

Garrett grinned, a witty remark on his tongue. A colossal prig? That seemed an apt description for someone, certainly. But again, he was trying to make peace, not guide them both back into their sarcastic exchanges before any real damage had been repaired. With a sigh and sounding a lot more resigned than he'd intended, the elder Hawke stated the simple truth:

"Father must have felt he was worth honouring."

Carver gave his brother a thoughtful look, then turned his attention back to the letter. After reading further into the words written there, he read another passage aloud.

"A man who let him look ahead, and a name that would always mean "skill thoughtfully applied."

"Seems like he thought it held some promise."

"Not a link back, but how to go forward. ...That's what I was to him."

Garrett was dumbstruck by these words, stunned as they sunk in, bringing the weight of Carver's previous doubts with them.

It had never occurred to the elder Hawke that Carver's identity crisis involved more than just the progress and status of his siblings. As children, Malcolm often spent more time with his mage-children, simply because they needed to be taught how to use their magics and how to avoid the dangers. A warrior-child, while no less a child loved, did not require the same attention from a mage as magelings would. Of course, Garrett had never thought much on this – Carver had never really brought it up.

No, what came to light the most was Garrett's tendency to overshadow his younger brother, but the boy never shared his doubts and uncertainties about his father, at least not with the eldest of his kin.

It now occurred to the man that there must have been times when Carver felt low and he began to believe that he meant nothing to their father, that he was the unnecessary, untalented third. It explained so much – about the jealousy, about the rivalry. He wanted what Garrett had, but not really the talent or the seniority, he just wanted the unquestionable assurance that his father loved him. Being the firstborn and a mage, that came far more easily to Garrett than it ever had for Carver.

Suddenly, Garrett felt a little silly and very ignorant. It was unfair of him to think Carver's jealousy spouted just of his success.

For once, while Garrett was stunned with this realization, Carver had the words to fill the silence.

"I don't know what to say..." There was a slight smile on the teen's face, and he turned it on his brother looking happier than he had in weeks. "Except...thank you."

* * *

It was just the brothers tonight.

Varric had gone off to finalize things for their expedition – and to work out the best way to break the news to Bartrand. Isabela was trying to break some self-imposed record and was "busy" most nights. Fenris was fine with solitude and Anders never cared much for their drunken escapades. Aveline actually _did _have better things to do and Merrill had come down with a cold and was against going anywhere that might make it worse – that included the crowded, dank and dirty Hanged Man which the group frequented when bored.

The pair were well plastered with drink, Carver always more gone than his elder.

"Can you believe it Brother?" the boy gasped, red-faced from both the alcohol and a raunchy joke Garrett had just told. "Fifty soverigns...Fifty of 'em! All in the spanse of a few weeks..."

"And then some," added Garrett with a wink and another gulp of ale. "We'll be able to leave more than enough behind to watch after mother."

"Assuming Gamlen doesn't run off and spend it all, that is."

For some reason, this was hilarious. Both boys burst into roars of laughter, earning some puzzled stares from curious patrons. As if this laughter had been a cue, one of the serving girls came by to take their empty mugs and replace them with full ones.

"Hey," said Carver suddenly between gasps for breaths and giggles, "do you remember the first time you took me drinking?"

Garrett beamed.

"You punched a guy who'd come at me for being sweet on his girl."

"I'd do it again, too, no one gets to beat on you but me, right?"

"Right." The boys drank to that, merry and eager to celebrate. "You insisted we were gonna stay until _you_ decided it was time to go home after that." Carver nodded at his brother's recollection. "You got _so_ piss drunk-"

"I did not start dancing," cut in the younger quickly, pointing an accusing finger at the mage. "You made that up."

"I've several eye witnesses and a few wealthy ladies to verify." Garrett grinned devilishly, then the expression instantly changed to something thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh. Well, I guess I _did_ have several witnesses. I suppose they're all dead now."

"Then the secret dies with them," whispered Carver over his mug.

"Not quite, little brother, I'm not dead yet."

"Yet," repeated Carver – but his tone was playful, his smile teasing. "Besides, everyone knows you're a scoundrel. You've as much truth to your tales as Varric."

"Not true!" Garrett sounded offended, though the grin on his face was genuine and his tone was lightened with drink. "Varric has significantly less truth, I swear it."

Carver shrugged, then took another long drink.

"Why bring it up?" asked his elder brother.

"Bring what up? Varric's stories?"

"No. The drinking. The popping of your debauchery cherry, as I recall."

The two howled with laughter again before the conversation resumed.

"I dunno, just thinking back I guess."

"To better times?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"Oh come on," Garrett threw his arms up and gave his eyes a good exaggerated roll. "Don't tell me you're gonna start whining about how _rough_ a childhood you had! We grew up together and I can safely say whatever woes you had were shared, or not that bad."

"I wasn't!" Carver returned sharply, but the way he blushed into his mug suggested otherwise. "I mean like, back to the first demon, to the blood mage, to the nightmares...everything." Carver sounded far too sober for the amount of alcohol he'd ingested. "We were lucky to get out alive. Lucky to be alive."

"Must run in the family," said Garrett simply, taking a swig from his mug, "otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Okay, yeah, but when is that luck gonna run out?" Carver looked genuinely worried – the feeling probably amplified by the wonderful emotional conductor of liquor. "When's something gonna happen that we don't bounce back from? I mean, for Beth -"

"Carver," Garrett growled warningly, making the boy flinch and go wide-eyed. He looked much younger in that instant than the 19 years he was. "We're having a good night, don't ruin it." He finished that thought with another drink, only to freeze as the boy continued.

"It ran out for her...and for Father...when's it our turn...or mother's? When's it mine?"

The elder Hawke let out a long sigh and set his tankard on the table, leaning back in his chair.

"Whenever it happens. I'm not worried."

"But why?"

Garrett could only answer with a shrug, because he had no better response to give. He didn't like thinking on death, or of their family's luck. If he did, he would be forced to face the fact that Carver was right. Their luck was running out, it was only a matter of time. But if he went, who would look after Carver? After mother? And without either of them...Garrett didn't like to think on those possibilities. They were dismal and frightening and not worth the good buzz he had going.

"Remember the night you rigged that game trap in my room?"

Carver suddenly burst out with laughter.

"Oh that was rich! Best morning of my life, hands down."

"Best morning? What was so great about it?"

"Waking up to your yells, seeing you hanging upside down by your ankle in the middle of your room, red-faced and looking so _stupid_. It was great!"

"It was annoying."

"If you weren't such a heavy sleeper, you would've woken up when I was rigging the weights."

Garrett hummed thoughtfully for a few moments, then narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"You used to pull elaborate stunts like that all the time. What happened? Take one too many practice-blows to the head? The Carver of then was significantly more cunning and devious than the Carver of now."

Carver had no good retort ready, so he settled for sneering at his brother and draining his mug. By the time he thought he'd assembled a half-decent reply, the elder Hawke had already moved on.

"Best morning of my life was Pa's birthday, where the three of us got up before dawn to try and prepare breakfast for him. I was...eight? Maybe nine?"

Carver squinted, doing the math and realizing that he and Beth had been around five. The memory was harder for him to draw up, but he needn't have bothered – Garrett was retelling it for him.

"Beth was the only one who woke up when we'd planned. She had to get the two of us up. And trying to cook eggs and ham only ended up in half the kitchen on fire."

"You did that," Carver said slowly, "I remember, Beth was reading the directions Mother left for us, but you got impatient."

"I've never claimed to be a very patient person."

"Father had to come down and put out the flames before they got too bad. We were lucky they'd smelled the smoke."

Garrett chuckled at the mention of their luck, but did not dwell on it.

"Once they'd stopped the fire, Pa took us outside while Mother cooked, and we all had breakfast watching the sun rise.

"It was one of the first days in our Lothering home, wasn't it?"

Garrett nodded, giving the reflection of his face in his drink a goofy smile. "The kitchen needed to be redone anyways," he chuckled.

Carver thought back to their childhood, to the moments he remembered most fondly.

"Best morning of my life," Carver began.

"You're changing your answer?"

"Shut up." Carver hesitated, gazing sheepishly into his mug. Garrett shouldn't have interrupted, now he was having second thoughts. It took some time, but eventually the boy worked up the will to continue. "The best morning I remember was that time I had the nightmare about Pa...being possessed."

"That's not a morning," Garrett said, taking a quick drink. "that's a nightmare. You're doing this wrong." Carver ignored him and carried on.

"I don't remember how old I was...but I remember crying, and I woke up Bethany and she started crying too. When Mother and Father didn't wake up to come to us, we rallied the courage to get up and go to your room."

Garrett's expression was thoughtful as he sifted through his memories.

"We all fell asleep in your bed, and we were all there when Mother came to get us."

Garrett beamed.

"_That's_ your 'Best morning'?"

Carver went redder and glared into his mug, trying to hide his shame with more alcohol, but it was a fruitless effort.

"Cute, Carver," Garrett teased, nudging his brother with a foot under the table. Carver swore and drunkenly tossed his empty mug at the offending Hawke, who somehow found to coordination to duck out of the way. "I'm only teasing. It's a good best morning, honest."

The younger Hawke narrowed his eyes in disbelief, but let it lie. He gave a solemn sigh and propped his chin in his hands.

"I miss her," he said simply.

"Me too."

"Do you suppose she'd like this kind of place?"

"The Hanged Man? I think she'd be more fascinated than enamoured by it."

"Fair enough, but I was referring to Kirkwall. Do you think she'd like it here?"

Garrett paused a moment to give it some thought.

"She'd want to change it. She'd feel threatened by all the Templars."

Carver murmured something in agreement, then the Hawkes fell into silence. Neither man seemed too keen to carry on drinking and now each was lost in similar thoughts of their late sister. A serving girl came by to clear their mugs, but did not replace them as she had every other time. Garrett watched her go, eye wandering lower than propriety and interrupted when his brother rose from the table.

Taking that as a sign to leave, Garrett rose as well. After paying their tab the pair exited the bar with as much dignity as two inebriated, world-weary men could. Carver almost ate the dirt on one occasion, but managed to keep his balance up until the point where he collapsed against the wall of the stairs leading up to Gamlen's hut. He paused there, heaving, the fifty or so steps from the tavern to the hut seemed like such a marathon run now.

He straightened out eventually, turning his blurry sight on his brother, who swayed nearby, but looked immensely amused by the act.

"What a sorry sight we are," he said quietly, sounding defeated.

"Nonsense. We're the vision of Kirkwall nobility!" Garrett lifted his arms in a grandiose manner, but let them fall when he had to try and re-collect his balance. More silence, but it was a concentrated one. Carver was trying not to lose his dinner and Garrett was trying not to fall over. Carver slid into a sitting position and his elder seemed to take that as permission to lie down on the stone and stare up at the skyline.

"Do you..." Carver began slowly, his voice hushed and his words slurred, "...ever wish it was me?"

"No." Garrett was contemplatively quiet for a very long time. Then, finally, with such a sadness on his face Carver found it hard to swallow, the elder Hawke spoke in barely a whisper: "I wish it was me."

Carver gave his brother a long stare while the man smiled sadly up at the stars.

"You don't mean that."

Garrett shrugged, ever helpful.

"I don't blame you for what happened," the warrior said levelly, his voice far flatter than he meant for it to sound. He turned his head, scrunched up his face and sighed. "I don't blame you," he repeated, trying to make it sound more sincere.

"I may be drunk, Carver, but I'm not stupid. Don't lie to me, you're terrible at it."

The younger Hawke let out a long, exasperated sigh and buried his head in his hands.

"I don't...I don't know what I think...I want to be mad but I don't know at who...I blame you and I know I shouldn't. I just...I want her back, Garrett."

"I do too, but she's with Father. They're probably better off where they are now than we are."

"They're better off dead?" Carver cut in bitterly.

"No, at the Maker's side."

"You're not religious."

"That doesn't mean I don't believe."

"I don't follow."

"Neither do I."

Carver was left in a confused silence - all the while Garrett tittered away to his own joke - trying to pick apart his brother's speech through the fog in his brain. This conversation was getting them nowhere. Neither of them were in any state for a heart-to-heart, but they both felt as if things should be said now, or they would never be said at all.

"I miss her," Carver repeated as a whisper, unsure if his brother would even hear. He did, and answered in a voice so broken, the very same thing he'd just confessed to prior:

"I wish it were me."

Needless to say, Carver was entirely unprepared for when his brother bolted upright and suddenly exclaimed, "Let's make this worth it!"

"Make what worth what?" The boy paused, then shook his head in confusion and repeated: "what?"

"This expedition. We'll make it worth it."

"We? You mean you're taking me?" Carver sounded suspicious. He hadn't braved this conversation with his brother because he was afraid of the answer, afraid of being left behind. But now, now it seemed it was coming out into the open whether he wanted it to or not.

"I..." a pause "...yes."

"But what about Mother?"

No matter what his words suggested, inside Carver was doing back flips. He was only challenging his brother's decision to make sure it was true and not just a drunken promise - Garrett had a tendency to make those.

"She's a tough girl, she can look after herself. At least she has Gamlen here with her, and I'll leave Atticus too. He won't let anything touch her."

Carver mumbled something affirmative, smiling dumbly at his brother, who took no notice.

"Who else?"

"I dunno. Varric's coming, and we'll want to keep our pow-wow small."

"So who else?" Carver pushed for an answer again.

"Well, Aveline will be staying behind with the guards to do her guard-captain...stuff, and plus she'll be able to check in on mother. I think Merrill might wilt if we take her too far from the sun," Garrett chuckled to himself quietly, then continued. "Isabela has no more of a desire to be underground, but I suppose with the promise of treasure she'd cope..."

"So Isabela?"

Garrett continued.

"But it'd be good to bring along a lot of fighting power, and Fenris has that in spades. He can do that...glowy thing where he rearranges your insides. I've been itching to see how the Darkspawn take to that."

"Fenris?"

"And having a former Grey Warden is an advantage that goes without saying...plus, a second healer means I won't have to watch your ass all the time."

"...Anders?"

"Or Fenris. One or the other, I suppose." Garrett stretched his jaws in a wide yawn and arched his back against the ground until it gave a few satisfying clicks. He pushed himself upright with a grunt of effort, clumsily trying to find his feet underneath him to stand. When he did, he was quick to offer his hand to his little brother, who accepted it and nearly brought them both to the ground when he stumbled after rising. "I'll make the decision when the time comes."

"But I'm going?"

Garrett smiled and clapped his little brother on the shoulder.

"I promise."

Carver's returning smile was relieved, then the boys agreed it was well past time to turn their sorry selves in for the night. While Carver gratefully stumbled off to bed, excited to slay as many Darkspawn as he could in the name of his sister, Garrett hung back. He did not follow his kin inside, but instead turned around and sat on the stone ledge, his legs dangling into the alley below.

Something sat in his stomach, cold and heavy and solid. He felt sick, and not entirely because of the alcohol. His brother had been all too thrilled to go, when Garrett had only half-committed to his words. He wasn't sure if he was lying or not, but that's not what made him so uneasy. What made him uneasy was the sudden memory of his father's funeral. The image of him drunkenly stumbling home with Carver under his arm shot up his spine and gripped his throbbing head with claws of ice.

He couldn't remember the specifics of their conversation, but his own voice, somber and quiet, reverberated around in his head.

_You'll all die_

Garrett lowered his head, threading his fingers into his hair.

_I don't know what he was thinking_

He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He felt something warm and wet escape from between his eyelids, and let out a long breath he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding.

A sob escaped him, shaking his shoulders as a fear settled over him unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He felt robbed of breath, frozen in place and weighed down by the pressure of all his memories, both sweet and miserable. He could remember the time his father had hugged him instead of tearing him a new one for endangering his siblings at a gypsy camp as a teen, and then remembered sprawling over his grave, the world spinning much like it did now, hiccoughing through his tears and wishing everything would stop.

_Leaving me at the head..._

He remembered Bethany next, the unearthing of these memories accented by another sob that shook his body like a leaf. He recalled the brick of a boy who'd tried courting her, the looks she received from the men of the town as she matured, the way her smile seemed to light up her surroundings. What stood out with the most clarity was her sitting at his side, her arm laced around his. With a puppy at their feet, the pair gazed off into the sunrise, both hoping for the best yet bracing for the worst.

And then he saw her too, left behind in the Fereldan wasteland, her body bruised and bloody and broken, her mother wailing as Carver pulled her away. The eldest Hawke bit his lip and swallowed heavily, managing to push back the tears that threatened to spill over.

But then came memories of Carver, their play fights and spars, their yelling matches and the bitter stares they exchanged at the most tense of moments. He remembered taking the boy out to drink, and how quickly the boy had risen to his defence – how quickly he'd _always_ come to his defence.

And now, staring down the deep roads at the end of the week, he was seized with so many warring emotions that threatened to tear him apart. He brought his knees to his chest and curled in on himself, completely tense and desperately fighting off the urge to cry. Those words he'd spoken to his little brother those few years ago, drunken but sober, saddened but laughing, came out again now. He breathed them into the cold breeze that penetrated his fetal curl, and swore he felt his father's eyes on his back, disappointed and heartbroken all the same.

"I'll be the death of you all."

* * *

"_Sometimes loss is necessary - be it yourself or your family - sometimes one must fall for the others to survive."_

**_END_**

* * *

**Or is it?  
I'm pretty sure it is. There might be an epilogue though, keep your eyes peeled boys and girls.**

**Royal Melon Lord Sem - I'm sorry there was no Anders. I'unno what it was, but I just couldn't seem to fit him in there without throwing something off. I suppose he just doesn't play well with others. Plus, I'd like to think he was busy doing worthwhile things with his time, like healing the poor and downtrod of Kirkwall (: I encourage you to write your own stuff, I'll be excited to see it!**

**Royal Melon Princess Dark - I also love Merrill. Something about all that cuteness and innocence just makes me want to put her in as many uncomfortable positions as I can! (because I'm an ass like that :D) Thanks for passing this story around, friend, I really appreciate it and all of your support (:**

**All of my future review replies will be via PM, so please keep those reviews coming. I accept just about everything, and appreciate constructive criticism. Fill out that box down there and let me know what you thought.  
**

**But the bottom line is, thank you so much for reading this, and for sticking with me right to the end. I can't thank those who review enough, you really kept me going, and inspire me to write. (:**

**Until next time**

**~Shmee**


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